


Solitary

by exclamation



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Canon Divergence - Captain America: The First Avenger, Injury, M/M, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Oblivious Steve Rogers, Prison, Prisoner Bucky, Slow Burn, Solitary Confinement, mentions of past bullying
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-27
Updated: 2019-10-12
Packaged: 2019-10-17 16:15:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 43
Words: 109,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17563820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exclamation/pseuds/exclamation
Summary: The Winter Soldier has been a prisoner of SHIELD for about a year and a half, placed in solitary confinement under strict security when it was clear he wasn't going to respond to the best interrogators and deprogrammers SHIELD had available. When Fury asks a newly awakened Steve Rogers to assist, Steve is hesitant. He doesn't understand why Fury thinks he would have a better chance of getting through to this guy than all the people who have tried and failed.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is an AU where the Winter Soldier was captured by SHIELD sometime before Steve was rescued from the ice. All of the events of the later movies therefore don't happen in this universe. 
> 
> There will be allusions to torture that occurred prior to the start of this story, but nothing graphic.

There were procedures for what the asset was supposed to do in case of capture, drilled into his head like all other procedures, as something inescapable and inarguable. If the asset was captured, he was to try to escape if possible. If that wasn't possible, then he was to resist any torture and refuse to give away any information about his mission, his handlers, his history, or anything else he was asked. If resisting interrogation wasn't possible, then he was to kill himself.

Attempting escape had failed. After the second attempt, his captors had ensured he would not have the opportunity to make another attempt. Resisting interrogation had been much easier. There had been some attempts to beat information out of him, a period of minimal food and lack of sleep in an effort to weaken his resolve, and repeated rounds of questioning, but nothing they had done to him came even close to the punishment the asset would face for failing to adhere to protocols. Silence had been easy.

They had subjected the asset to medical tests, drawing blood, running scans, injecting him with substances, but nothing had been as painful or intrusive as the standard tests he had received at the hands of Hydra.

But then he had been left alone.

The interrogations had stopped. The tests had stopped. He had simply been left in a cell, empty except for a metal toilet that was fixed to the wall. Food was delivered through a chute longer than his arms and too narrow to pass through. He disposed of the empty containers through a similar chute, and any attempt to do otherwise resulted in lack of food. No one entered the tiny cell. No one questioned him. No one did anything.

He wasn’t sure what to do now.

He had tested the possibilities and concluded that escape was impossible unless circumstances changed. He couldn’t resist questioning because he was no longer being questioned. He couldn’t kill himself because he was not given anything which could be used to that effect, and even if he was, he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to kill himself. He was a valuable asset and was only supposed to kill himself if the alternative was to give up secrets, which was in no danger of happening.

He was supposed to endure.

But for how long?

The asset had been trained on silence, on stillness. He could sit for hours, waiting for a target to be in the perfect position for a shot. He could wait for orders, barely giving any sign that he was alive or aware. But those periods would always have an end. The target would arrive or the mission parameters would change. The orders would come.

No one was giving him orders now.

He didn’t know how to cope without orders.

He didn’t know exactly how long he had been in this cell. The meals came through at regular intervals but the asset could not be certain how far apart they were. He suspected that he was fed twice a day. Based on that and his sleep cycle, he could make an estimate of days.

He believed he had been in this cell for two hundred and seventy three days. His calculations about the duration of his previous period of capture, before the solitary confinement had begun, were harder because of the medical testing and because routines were less predictable, but he suspected it had been for nearly as long.

The asset wanted to know if he would be kept in here until his body broke down. He wasn’t allowed to want, and a part of him was afraid of the punishment for this small digression, but another part of him would have welcomed it. At least punishment would be something different. He wasn’t sure how long he could endure this silence, this nothingness.

He found himself wishing for the tube, for the periods of nothingness when he was unaware of the world. Being frozen would be better than this. 

***

"Steve," Fury said, and Steve knew that this conversation would be a serious one. Fury called him Cap or Rogers or Captain Rogers, but only very rarely did he use his first name.

"Nick," Steve said, unable to resist using the first name to mirror Fury, stressing the tone to emphasise it and then instantly wondering if he'd made a mistake. He stood in Fury's office, half expecting to get a dressing down for speaking informally to a superior officer. Shield wasn't exactly a military organisation but there were a lot of similarities and addressing the head of Shield by his first name probably wasn't acceptable behaviour, even though the world he'd woken up in seemed a lot less formal than the one he was familiar with.

"I wanted to bring you in on a project that has been something of a problem for me."

"What sort of project?" Steve asked, hoping it was a real mission and not more of those ridiculous videos he'd been expected to record encouraging kids to do their best. It had felt like everything he'd ever hated from his SSO days all rolled up into one neat, hypocritical package. It was all well and good telling kids to exercise and respect the rules, but he'd got to where he was by lying on enlistment papers and getting injected with experimental drugs.

"About a year and a half ago, some of our agents managed to capture an enemy operative, an assassin codenamed the Winter Soldier." Fury waved his hand at his computer and an image projected into the air about the desk of a man in body armour, dark hair shrouding the parts of his face not hidden by a dark mask and goggles. He had what Steve took at first glance to be some sort of metal plating protecting his left arm, but he wondered if it was some fancy, futuristic replacement for his real arm.

Fury was still talking, "He's been involved of dozens of assassins over several decades, starting back in the 1960s."

"He doesn't look old enough," Steve said, though it was hard to be sure with so much of the man's features concealed. "Is the codename an inherited title?"

"That's what we thought, especially since in the 80s there was a complete change in MO. Early on, he was a ghost. The only thing people would see of him was a sniper's bullet. From the 80s, he started being a lot more visible, getting caught on surveillance cameras carrying out the assassinations, going out and about in broad daylight, armed to the teeth, leaving dozens of witnesses. All the footage we have of this guy is from after the change. We assumed that it was a different person using the same name but we now have reason to believe that he is actually that old and the change in behaviour is more likely to be a result of a change in the sort of orders he was given."

"What reason?"

"I'm afraid that's above your clearance level, Cap. Suffice it to say that we did some medical tests on him when he was captured and we suspect he's been enhanced and that's what's allowed him to operate for so long."

"Enhanced? Like me?"

"Remarkably like you. Someone was probably trying to replicate the serum."

Steve suppressed a shudder, remembering how the Red Skull had looked. The man in the image didn't look anything like that.

"Is that why you want me involved in this?" Steve asked.

"In a way. I'm hoping you might be able to connect with him in a way that no one else has. All our efforts to interrogate him have been futile. He hasn't given us any information, has barely said a word. We've put him in solitary for a spell in the hopes that that will encourage him to be more forthcoming, but I'd like you to try leading the interrogation."

"It's not what I'm trained for."

"I'm aware of that, but you can't do any worse than the best trained people I have at my disposal. You have a reputation for coming up with unique solutions to problems and, as we said, you have a little in common with him. Maybe you'll be able to reach him."

Steve looked at the face in the image, what little was visible. He wasn't sure about this, wasn't sure what Fury expected of him. Did Fury expect him to go in there and beat the guy up, to try and break him? He hoped not. That definitely wasn't something he would be able to do. But talking to the guy, trying to reach him on a human level? It couldn't hurt to try. He might stop someone else from going with the torture approach to the interrogation.

***

Fury gave Steve a lot of files on the prisoner but there were some noticeable gaps in the record. Steve was given transcripts of interrogations, which mostly consisted of a Shield agent asking questions and receiving silence as the only answer, but there were no recordings of those interrogations, no video footage, not even any photographs. This, combined with the lack of any medical evaluations of the prisoner, left Steve utterly certain that the man had been tortured. Fury had probably decided to not let Steve see any evidence of blood or bruises or broken bones, but Steve was smart enough to see through the gaps and make inferences. He wasn't sure how he was going to make this assassin open up to him after that treatment, especially given Fury's other restrictions.

Fury made a big deal about how dangerous this guy was, and how Steve shouldn't interact with him directly. Steve would be expected to look at video footage and talk to him over a microphone. The footage he'd seen so far was from a camera high in the ceiling of the cell, out of reach of the prisoner and therefore at a terrible angle. Steve couldn't even see the guy's face, so how was he supposed to make any headway into figuring out what he was thinking?

The cell was another thing Steve wanted to get angry about. Yes, this guy was an assassin, yes, he was an enemy agent, yes, he was a killer, but he was still a human being. He had been given absolutely nothing. No books. No bed. Not even a blanket. Being left alone in a cell like that with absolutely nothing to do was just another form of torture. At least that one, Steve hoped to be able to do something about.

He found a soft blanket and went to the holding facility first thing. The agents on duty took a long time to verify his identity but then they let him down into the underground bunker under escort until they reached the observation room. There were more agents here, watching the monitors to oversee the prisoner at all times. And presumably to make sure Steve didn't do anything he wasn't authorised to do. Steve took the chair he was offered and looked at the large screen, which showed the man curled up on his side in a corner of the cell, the metal arm thrown over his face to shield his eyes from the constant light.

"He'll be sleeping for another ten minutes yet," said the agent to Steve's right, a young woman who looked bored enough to match the prisoner.

"He has a regular schedule?" Steve asked.

"Yeah. Between four and four and a quarter hours sleep, always about the same time, meals twice a day. Bathroom breaks within the same five minute window each day."

"That's not a lot of sleep."

"It's all he seems to need."

"Does he do anything else? Any exercise to try and keep his strength up? Does he mark the days on the wall? Or try to communicate?"

"Just sits there. I don't think the lights are all on, if you know what I mean."

Steve wasn't sure about that assessment. It was hard to get a feel for a person's intelligence when they weren't given an opportunity to do anything. Steve watched and, sure enough, eleven minutes after the agent had spoken to him, the prisoner woke. The first sign of it was a sudden tension in his body. Then he sat up, shifting into a cross-legged position, hands in his lap. The mess of tangled hair and the high angle on the camera made it impossible to see his face.

"He'll be like that for an hour," the agent said.

"You ever try and talk to him?"

"I'm not authorised to."

Steve however was. That was exactly what he'd been brought here to do. He reached out for the switch on the microphone and spoke the first words the prisoner had probably heard in a long time, "Hello. My name is Steve."


	2. Chapter 2

The asset tensed at the sound of the voice, unexpected and disembodied. Someone was talking to him from outside the cell. He didn't know what this meant. Was this a sign that he was being rescued? Or were his captors going to torture him more? The change was alarming but at the same time welcome. It had been a very long time since anyone had spoken to him and just the thought of having something new happening was enough to set his heart racing in a way that wasn't quite fear.

"What should I call you?" Steve asked. The asset didn't bother looking up. He knew he wouldn't see anything except the security camera, high enough to be impossible for him to reach. There was no point in showing anything of a reaction that might give away unintentional information. The asset also didn't answer. He wasn't allowed to answer questions or give information to an enemy and it seemed likely that Steve was an enemy.

Except... there was something familiar about his voice, about the name and the way he had introduced himself.

The asset didn't have complete memories. There were gaps and vague areas where he had been wiped in the name of mission security. Perhaps Steve belonged in one of those gaps. Perhaps he had been a handler or a tech or support on a mission. If that was true then he wasn't an enemy, but the asset couldn't be sure. It was also possible that he had been a witness he had been tasked with leaving alive, or deemed unimportant when it came to whether or not they survived. It was better to say nothing than to breach protocols and give away information. Anything was better than breaching protocols.

"The Winter Soldier isn't a name," Steve continued after a long silence. "It's a codename, a title. It doesn't feel right to call you by it when I'm talking right to you. Is there another name I could use? It doesn't have to be your own. It could be a nickname, an alias, something you like to be called."

The asset wasn't sure how he would answer this question even if it were allowed. He didn't have a name. The asset was no more a name than the Winter Soldier, but was telling Steve that he didn't have a name as bad as saying anything else? It was still giving up information. Giving up information of any sort wasn't acceptable. At least if he stayed silent there would be more questions. That was better than the silence.

There was a long pause and the asset wondered if Steve would stop talking to him. Perhaps if the asset followed procedure and said nothing, he would give up, like the torturers and previously interrogators had. He didn't want that. He wanted the voice to continue, he drank in each word like a man dying in a desert suddenly given water, as though each sound was the most important thing in the universe. He needed the words to keep coming, for Steve to keep talking to him, but how could he make that happen without breaking protocol?

"I could come up with a name for you," Steve said, and the asset let out a breath of relief that the silence hadn't continued indefinitely.

The asset counted the seconds before the next statement. Three hundred and seventy one. Steve was giving the asset adequate time to speak but there was nothing the asset was allowed to say. He wasn't allowed to give away information.

"How about John?" Steve asked. "John Doe is a name we use for men when we don't know their real names. I could call you that."

Steve knew that it wasn't his name. He still thought the asset had a name, like he was a human being, but he would know that it wasn't that one. The asset wouldn't be giving away anything if he refused it. Refusing it wasn't a breach of protocol because he was giving away nothing that the enemy didn't already know, but it might convince Steve that it was worth continuing to talk to him. There was something comforting about that voice after all this time in silence. The asset wanted the voice to continue and that meant giving a sign, some hint that would make Steve think that this, whatever it was, was working.

He licked his lips, shaped his mouth around the unfamiliar motions, and said, "No."

His voice came out cracked with disuse, but it had been said. A part of the asset waited for pain to rain down on him as punishment for daring to speak, but no pain came.

***

Steve stared at the monitor, surprised to have had a response. The transcripts he'd read suggested that the Winter Soldier was capable of being silent for days or weeks at a time. He'd managed to get an answer out of the man in less than an hour. Admittedly, it wasn't much of an answer, but it was a sign that he understood English, that he was aware and listening to Steve.

Beside him, the Shield agent was wide-eyed with surprise. She obviously hadn't expected this questioning to go anywhere.

Time for some positive reinforcement.

"Thank you," Steve said. "I'm going to send something down the chute, something that I hope will make your cell a little bit more comfortable."

He went to the chute and waited for the agent to press the controls to unlock the top end. He placed the blanket inside and then went back to the monitor to watch it tumble out the bottom. The man on the screen just stared at it for a long while, long enough that Steve wondered if he even registered what it was.

Steve waited, not wanting to push the man too hard too fast. He watched.

After perhaps ten minutes of motionless staring, the man got to his feet. He moved closer to the blanket like he was approaching a wild animal, uncertain if it was dead or would leap into an attack once he got too close. He scrutinised the blanket carefully.

"He doesn't even know what it is," the Shield agent said. "Like I said, not all there."

Steve wasn't sure. He watched the man reached out with the metal hand, touching the blanket with the tip of his little finger and watching for a reaction, like he thought it might explode or turn out to be a weapon. When nothing happened, the man tried again, touching the blanket with the barest tip of his flesh hand and then waiting, studying both the blanket and the fingertip as though waiting for a reaction. When nothing happened for another few minutes, the man touched his forearm to the blanket over a wider space for twenty seconds before drawing it away again, waiting for something to happen.

Steve was suddenly struck by a memory of a cold night in France when they'd been low on supplies. They'd found some bushes of berries but none of them had been sure if they were poisonous, so they'd tested them. It had been a slow process, starting with touching the berries to skin, then around their lips, waiting to see if there was any tingling or pain, before trying a single berry and waiting hours for any adverse reaction. It had been a slow process, especially when their stomachs had been growling, but it had been necessary to ensure they didn't end up dead.

Watching the man on the screen, he was struck by the similarities in how he slowly increased his contact and then waited, even going so far as to use the bathroom between careful touches of the blanket.

"He's testing to see if we've coated the blanket in any chemicals that would hurt him," Steve said. The Shield agent looked dubious but Steve was confident that was what was happening here. The man in the cell saw the blanket and was testing it thoroughly to make sure it wasn't a trap. It said a great deal about the man's expectations if his first thought on receiving a reward was to check to make sure it wasn't a punishment in disguise. Was that something he had learned from Shield's treatment of him?

Or was it something he'd learned before, back when he'd been an assassin?

***

The asset wanted to believe Steve when he said that the blanket was to make him more comfortable, but he knew that people lied. An offered reward could contain a hidden punishment, a treat could be a test in disguise. If the familiar voice was a sign that Steve had been part of his handling team in Hydra then it was possible the asset was to be punished for saying something, even though it had been something so minor as to not count as a breach of protocols.

He tested the blanket as well as he was able, touching it first with his metal arm and then with his flesh one, making sure that it was not coated in something that would burn his skin on contact. He would test it with water when he received his next meal, in case a reaction required moisture to activate, but he suspected that the blanket was exactly what it appeared to be.

The chute activated again and a plastic water container rolled down it, followed by another container, this one containing a grey mush. It felt almost early for his meal, though the hunger in his stomach was the same as it always was. Perhaps having someone speak to him made the time feel subjectively shorter.

The asset tore open the tab on the water container and drank a mouthful. It tasted the same as it always did, though it was possible it was laced with drugs. He poured a tiny drop out onto the corner of the blanket and watched for a reaction. Nothing occurred. After a full minute, the asset reached out and touched a finger to the damp spot, feeling for any sensation of burning or pain. None came.

It was possible that only portions of the blanket were treated with chemicals, but Steve would have no way to know which areas he would test. The asset decided that he had taken adequate precautions to make use of the blanket. He carried it to the edge of the cell, folded it neatly, and then sat down on top of it with his meal. It was more comfortable to eat sitting on the blanket instead of the floor.

The asset felt like he had forgotten something, some expected protocol. It sat uncomfortably inside him, like the expectation of punishment. It felt like some response was required regarding the blanket.

He thought back over the conversation, over the words that Steve had said. A thought occurred, something else which was not a breach of protocol but which might encourage Steve to keep talking to him.

He took another mouthful of water to prepare for the unaccustomed words.

"Thank you," he said, echoing what Steve had said earlier.

He thought he could hear surprise in the voice that answered with, "You're welcome."


	3. Chapter 3

Steve was expecting the call from Fury so he wasn't surprised when his new Shield-supplied phone rang. He also wasn't surprise when the call came in about thirty seconds after Steve walked into his apartment, though he might have expected Fury to be a little more subtle about the fact he clearly had people reporting on Steve's movements. 

"I gather things went well with the prisoner," Fury said. 

"I'm not sure I'd count it as going well," Steve said. This wasn't his area of expertise and he had felt that today, completely out of his depth as he tried to engage with a man he could barely see. 

"Agent Brice said you managed to start a dialogue." 

"A dialogue? He said three words all day." 

"That's extraordinarily chatty for him. If you manage to get him to say more than five words in one go, you'll have beaten our record." 

Fury's voice had a note of joviality to it, but it didn't sound like he was just making this up. He was being serious. Perhaps talking to the prisoner with kindness was going to make the guy open up after his imprisonment, but it felt like it would take a very long time. If getting three words out of the man was doing well and getting five words in one statement was a record, then Steve could be there for years before he got anything useful out of him. He wondered if that was the point, if Fury had given him this job to keep him occupied because he didn't have anything else to make Steve do and he was worried about the disruption he might cause if he was allowed to just wander around the city picking fights with assholes, as he'd been prone to doing before the war. 

The call with Fury was brief. It wasn't like Steve had anything to report since it appeared that the agent, Brice, who'd been watching him in the control room had already told him everything. Steve was glad to end the call. He made himself a dinner using the new microwave, which he considered a marvel of the modern age, and used the time the machine had saved him to try and think of how to proceed the next day. He wasn't sure quite how best to get a positive reaction from the prisoner, but he felt better for having a plan. 

He arrived early again, and the prisoner was still asleep, this time using the blanket as a pillow. Steve wondered if a second blanket was in order because that still didn't look comfortable. Perhaps tomorrow, if he could persuade the prisoner to talk again. He waited, watching the man sleep for about five minutes longer than he had the day before. Perhaps the blanket pillow had given him a little comfort, enough to allow longer sleep, or perhaps this was just normal variation. The prisoner woke. He sat up. He adjusted the blanket and then sat on it again, sitting with his back against the wall, sinking back into perfect stillness. 

Steve waited a few minutes before he activated the microphone. "Good morning." 

There was a stretch of silence, but not nearly so long as some of yesterday's silences, and then the prisoner said, "Hello." 

There was a different agent in the control room with Steve today, and he looked just as shocked as Brice had been about the prisoner speaking. Steve considered asking about the blanket, but he'd decided on a different approach when he'd been planning this out last night. 

"I thought I'd tell you a little bit about myself," he said. "Would you like that?" 

There was another long silence in which the prisoner made no response. 

Steve continued, "If you get bored and want me to stop talking, let me know." There was no response to that either, so Steve started talking. He explained about how he'd always been small and sickly, how he caught every disease that ran through the neighbourhood and how sometimes he couldn't even breathe right. He talked about how when war had broken out, he'd wanted to do his part, wanted to help stop the army that was trying to march across half of Europe, grinding people into the ground. 

"I don't like bullies," Steve said. "So I tried to sign up and was dismissed for medical reasons. So I tried again and again, giving a different address, always getting turned down. It was illegal to lie on enlistment papers but I did it anyway, and then one day, I happened to do it in the right place, or the wrong one, depending on who you ask. There was this scientist, Dr Erskine, who saw me arguing about how I couldn't sit back and do nothing, and he pulled some strings, got me accepted into a special training program. I was there alongside a bunch of the best recruits the army could provide, all these athletic, muscular guys, and me, this skinny twig who would blow away in a strong wind. The guy in charge hated me, thought it was the biggest insult to his army that I'd been dumped on him, thought I was utterly useless, but Erskine thought that I would be the perfect candidate for an experimental program." 

He took a breath. On the screen, the prisoner hadn't moved, hadn't given any indication that he was listening. But he hadn't told him to stop either. 

"The two of them argued about it. Then the colonel decided to do a test. He threw a dummy grenade into the middle of our group, yelling a warning so we'd all think it was real. Everyone else dove for cover. I dove for the grenade." 

He was already drawing breath to continue the story when he heard a noise from the speaker a hint of a word, too soft to be interpreted. 

"What was that?" he asked. "I didn't hear you." 

There was silence. The figure on the screen had tensed, the stiffness in his posture about the only thing that could be read from the camera's angle. 

"It's alright," Steve said. "You were just a little quiet. Can you say that again?" 

The prisoner said nothing, but the agent beside Steve pulled a pair of headphones on, bringing up the footage on a second monitor and playing back the recording, presumably at a higher volume. 

"He said 'stupid'," the agent said. 

"You don't have to say anything else," Steve said. "We got it on the tape. Yeah, I guess it was pretty stupid of me." 

The prisoner didn't say anything. He stayed rigid with tension, his metal hand closed into a fist as though preparing for a fight. He looked like he was expecting something terrible to happen. Steve wondered if it would have been better to pretend he hadn't heard the insult, but if he wanted a dialogue with this guy then the first step was to be honest. 

"You wouldn't be the first person to call me stupid for that," Steve continued, trying to smile into the microphone and hoping that something of that would come across in his tone. He thought of Bucky, all the ways he'd yelled, all the insults he'd hurled, when he'd found out Steve had jumped on that grenade. He'd used language he must have picked up in the Hydra prison camp, reaming him out in about five different languages, and using phrases that might not even have been applicable or understood properly by either of them but which sounded suitable when said angrily enough. 

"You're not going to get punished for talking to me," Steve said. "That's what we want to happen, so even if you insult me, it's alright." He didn't seem to be reassuring the prisoner much, so he decided to just press on with his story. Maybe continuing as if nothing had happened was the best way to convince him that there wouldn't be bad consequences of his insult. 

"Anyway, stupid or not, me jumping on that grenade to try and save the soldiers who had been insulting and bullying me convinced the colonel to let Erskine pick me as his test subject. I was put through an experimental procedure, injected with a serum and blasted with some sort of radiation. It worked, better than I could have dreamed. I grew about a foot taller in a minute. I had muscles all over me, more muscles in one arm than I'd previously had in my whole life. I could breathe properly, I could hear properly, colours were more vibrant, and I wasn't hurting anywhere. I felt utterly incredible. I don't think any moment in my life could feel as good, physically, as in that moment when I was healthy for the first time in my life. Apparently there are these things called endorphins in our bodies which let us push through pain and exhaustion, so when things are really tough, your body produces tons of these things to help you keep going. So when I was small and sick, my body had a load of these things to keep me from crumbling under the constant pain, and when I suddenly felt good, there was no pain for them to compensate for anymore and the result was that I felt incredible. Enough to more than make up for the fact that the procedure itself was really painful. I came out of that machine and I was strong for the first time and that felt great." 

He took a breath, watching the figure on the screen. Had some of the tension eased away? Perhaps a little. 

He suspected that his next words would bring it back but he had to remember that the point of this whole procedure was that Fury wasn't information from this guy. 

"Was that what it was like for you?" he asked. "The medical reports say you were enhanced, something like me. Did it hurt? Did it feel good afterwards?" 

There was silence. On the screen, the prisoner moved. He brought his legs up in front of him and wrapped his arms around them, curling up into a tight ball. A defensive posture, but not one about fighting. This was a posture of trying to shrink down small to avoid notice. Without a word, the prisoner had told him that this was not a subject to ask about, not something he wanted to think about. 

So Steve pressed on, pretending he hadn't even asked. He talked about Erskine's death, and about how he'd been caught by the press chasing down the man who'd killed him. He talked about being put on stage to raise money and the ridiculous propaganda films. He tried to make it sound amusing, but he was sure his bitterness showed in his voice. He continued on to his first trip overseas and how it had felt to stand in front of real soldiers and feel like a fraud. 

"It felt like everything I was doing with the show was pointless, compared to the reality of war that they were going through," he said. "I was just a dancing monkey, playing at fighting in a fancy outfit, while they were out there getting hurt and killed. Of course, that was when I found out that Bucky had been captured." 

On the screen, the prisoner's hunched posture changed. He sat up straight. 

"Who the hell is Bucky?" he asked. 

Five words. A match for Fury's record.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm bracing myself for the screaming in the comments.

The asset listened to Steve's story. He could almost picture what he looked like from his words, imagining first someone small and frail, in desperate need of protection, and then someone large and muscular, and still inclined to throw himself on grenades with no sense of self preservation. He imagined this big soldier in a ridiculous outfit, something bright and colourful, unsuited for combat because he was meant to show off on a stage. An outfit that was designed to show off his physique. He could almost see it in his mind as he let the words wash over him. 

Then Steve said that name. Bucky. 

It rang in the asset's mind. It was important. He didn't know why it was important, but it jarred inside his head, getting stuck like a thought that didn't fit. 

"Who the hell is Bucky?" he asked. He wasn't breaking protocol. He wasn't giving away information by asking and he was allowed to ask questions when it was about something critical to a mission. This name was critical, he just didn't know why yet. He didn't have enough information so he had to ask. 

But the question was familiar too. He'd asked it before. 

The memory came to him of an interrogation room, of heavy restraints locked around every part of his body. A pair of enemy agents had entered the room and addressed him by that name. One had been a black man with an eyepatch, the other a woman with red hair who had sat across from him and done most of the talking. She'd shown him a picture of a face that looked like his face, of a name and military record that she had tried to convince him belonged to him. Bucky Barnes. He knew the name even before Steve said it. 

"Bucky Barnes," Steve said. "I'm telling this story all wrong. I didn't even introduce one of the major characters. Bucky was my friend since we were little kids. Every time I got in trouble, he was either right beside me to get in trouble too or he was pulling me out of it. I was always picking fights, even when I was so scrawny you could pick me up with one hand. Some kids would be beating up another kid or, as we got older, some guy would be harassing some girl, and I would step in, try to help, and end up getting my ass kicked. Bucky was always there to rescue me." 

Steve sounded sad. That wasn't good, but the asset didn't know how to make him stop sounding sad. He couldn't rescue him like Bucky Barnes used to because he wasn't Bucky Barnes. He knew that. He had seen the file, seen Sergeant James Buchanan (Bucky) Barnes in print beside the photograph, but he knew he wasn't Bucky Barnes. That was important. He didn't know exactly why it was important, but it was. 

"Bucky Barnes is dead," he said. 

There was a pause before Steve spoke again and the asset worried that he'd made a mistake. 

When Steve spoke again, he sounded even more sad than before. "Yeah. Yeah, he is." 

Something unclenched inside the asset at the confirmation, and the agreement that Bucky was dead, a tension eased. Steve sounded sad about it but the asset knew that this was a good thing. It was better this way. He didn't know how he knew that, but he knew it. There were a lot of things he knew without knowing how. 

"No one can hurt him if he's dead," the asset said. That mattered. 

There was another paused before Steve answered him. "I suppose that's a nice way to think about it." 

Silence returned. The asset felt bad that he had interrupted the story. He wanted Steve to keep talking to him but he didn't know how to ask. He wasn't allowed to ask for things he wanted. He wasn't allowed to want. 

He couldn't just ask Steve to resume talking. He couldn't give information. But there had to be something he could do to indicate that he wanted to talk without saying so, that nudged Steve into speaking to him again. He just had to do it without breaching protocols. Thinking back over their conversations, there was something he could give Steve that wouldn't be giving him information. Steve had asked for a name to call him by but had said that an alias would be sufficient. The asset wouldn't be giving him information to say a name that wasn't his. 

"James," he said quietly. 

After a moment, the audio feed came on again and Steve asked, "What did you say?" 

The asset wondered if he had been too quiet to be heard again, or if Steve had been distracted, or if Steve was angry with him because he thought that the asset had forgotten his name. 

"You asked for a name to call me, an alias," the asset said. "Bucky would be wrong but James would be acceptable. You could call me James if you want." 

There was another silence. The asset found it difficult to judge the emotional state of a person he couldn't see. He wasn't sure how his words had affected Steve. 

"How did you know?" Steve asked at last. 

"Know what?" the asset responded. He wasn't supposed to answer questions but he didn't even know what question he was meant to be not answering. 

"Sorry... It's just... That name. Bucky was a nickname. His real name was James. James Buchanan Barnes but we called him Bucky from his middle name because there were a lot of guys called James. It caught me off guard that you'd pick his name, but it's alright. James has always been a common name. I can call you that. It's a hell of a lot better than Winter Soldier as a name." 

Steve thought it was a coincidence, that he had chosen the name of his friend by chance. No one had shown him the file with the picture that looked like him. No one had tried to tell him that the asset was Sergeant James Buchanan (Bucky) Barnes. That was good. Bucky Barnes was dead. He was dead and no one could hurt him. He couldn't hurt Steve either. That was important. Not hurting Steve was important. 

"I don't know about you," Steve said, "but I'm getting thirsty from all this talking and it's about time for your meal. I'm going to put something extra in there for you to reward you for all the talking you've been doing." 

His normal meal pack emerged from the chute, but this time something else came out, a plastic bottle hitting the ground and rolling towards the asset. He picked it up, looking at the clear plastic and the liquid within, a pale yellow colour. The asset's first thought was that it was urine, because that was the only liquid he had seen lately of that colour, but he knew that would be unlikely as a reward. He twisted the cap off the bottle and sniffed at it, his nostrils picking up a fruity scent. He dipped a finger inside and tasted it tentatively, not bothering to test the contents rigorously for chemicals or poisons. Steve wouldn't give him something that would hurt him. 

The apple taste was a burst of sweetness against his tongue that made him think of warm, fall evenings for some reason. He wasn't sure when he'd last been given something sweet, but he must have been once because he knew this was apple juice. He knew this flavour. How did he know this flavour? No one gave the asset apple juice. 

Perhaps he had needed to drink it on a mission once, in order to maintain a cover. There had been occasions, back under an older set of handlers, when he had sometimes pretended to be a person so that he could get close to a target, killing them out of nowhere and then melting back into a crowd, just another person among many, invisible. He must have retained the memory of apple juice from a mission that had otherwise been erased from his mind for the sake of security. 

It was kind of Steve to give this to the asset, to pretend that he was a person. 

"Thank you," the asset said, because it was important to say so. He took a mouthful of the juice into his mouth, letting it sit a while before he swallowed, enjoying the sweetness, the novelty. He had to swallow eventually but he then waited, letting the aftertaste linger. 

He had a whole bottle of this juice. He could make it last, save it up, enjoy it over a long period. That was what was sensible to do with a treat. There was another thing that was important to do with treats, he knew, even if he couldn't remember having had a treat before. He was supposed to share treats. 

"Steve," he said, "do you want some of the juice?" 

"It's for you." 

"You can have some too." 

There was a pause and then Steve said, "There's no way for you to give it to me." 

"I could send it down the waste chute and you could collect it." 

There was another pause. Perhaps Steve was investigating that possibility because when he spoke again, he said, "The waste chute gets fed automatically into an incinerator. There's no way for me to get something you've thrown away. If you put the juice in the chute, it will just get destroyed." 

The asset's hand tightened around the bottle. It would be a needless waste to destroy this juice and then neither of them would get to enjoy it. He would have to drink it all because that was the only sensible option but it didn't feel right for him to have something nice when Steve didn't. 

"Next time," the asset said, "you should drink half before you send it down to me." 

"That's not necessary, James. I appreciate the thought, but the juice is for you, as a reward for talking to me. I can always get myself more juice. You can have a reward for yourself." 

"Promise me you'll have some juice," the asset said. It mattered. Juice had vitamins in it, it provided calories. It was important that Steve had both and he wouldn't break a promise. The asset didn't know how he knew that either, but he knew it more than he knew the taste of juice. 

"I'll get myself some juice before I go home later," Steve said. "I promise." 

The asset nodded. He set the bottle aside for now and consumed his food pack and water as normal. The tasteless mass of his allowed food should come before the rest of the juice, so that he could properly savour the nicer taste he had been given as this gift from Steve. But this food tasted poor after the sweetness, so he ate it quickly, wanting to get it over with so that he could enjoy the juice again. 

"Do you want me to continue with my story, James?" Steve asked, while the asset ate. 

The asset wasn't allowed to answer, but Steve started the story again anyway.


	5. Chapter 5

Steve talked until his throat was sore and his mouth dry. Each time he took a drink of water so that he could keep going, he couldn't help thinking about the way the prisoner, that James, had tried to share the apple juice with him. It had seemed so strange. One possibility was, like the blanket, he was testing it out, wanting to see that they weren't trying to hurt him, but it made little sense as a test. There would be no way for James to see Steve drink the juice, no way for him to know that he hadn't just poured it away. After the methodical way he'd tested the blanket, Steve didn't believe something so obvious would have escaped James' notice. But if it wasn't a test, why then would James have tried to share the juice? 

Was it because he was afraid of punishment for having something nice? Was he trying to win Steve over to try and stave off future pain? Had he previously been expected to share anything he'd been given? Steve felt that this showed something very important about the prisoner, but he just didn't have enough information to figure out what. 

The name was also strange. It was very odd that he would have suggested the name James so soon after Steve had started talking about Bucky. Steve knew he hadn't mentioned Bucky's real name but was it possible that James knew it somehow? He'd asked about Bucky. For all the long periods of silence, the lack of answers to questions, the thing that had made him talk, that had got him to initiate a conversation, was Bucky. 

Again, Steve felt like he was missing something. He wondered if Fury might have some insight into why James had reacted this way. He also wondered if Fury would tell him if he did. Steve had been deliberately kept in the dark about a great many things and the more time he spent here, the more he felt that Fury was hiding something from him. After all, Fury had all but told him that their best interrogators had had no success in getting James to talk, but Steve had managed to blow away their five word records in one day. He'd got a name out of him, almost certainly not his real name, but still a name. Steve had absolutely no training in things like this, but Fury had believed he would be able to get through to the prisoner and somehow he had. Steve just didn't know why. 

All he could do was carry on with what he'd been doing. He talked about rescuing Bucky, about putting together the Howling Commandos, about battles and missions. James didn't talk to him through the stories, didn't ask questions. Steve waited for him to come out with something again, like the question about Bucky, but he just sat there listening. Assuming he was listening; Steve had no way to be certain. 

After a while he said, "Well, I think that's all the talking my voice can handle for one day. I'm going to send your dinner down and then head out. I'll be back tomorrow." 

Again came the faint, "Thank you," through the speakers. 

"You're welcome, James." 

Steve did what he'd said and sent the food and water down the chute for James to eat. He was just starting for the door when James spoke again. 

"Steve?" 

He hurried back to the microphone and its switch. "Yeah, James, I'm still here." 

"You promised to drink apple juice," James said. 

"I did." Steve had almost forgotten that. "Thank you for reminding me. I'll buy some of my way home." 

"Good night, Steve." 

"Good night, James." 

***

He did buy himself some juice on the way home, drinking it slowly and thinking about the way James had savoured his bottle, tasting a little sip and then letting it sit in his mouth for ages before swallowing, trying to make it last as long as possible. Steve was struck by a memory of a chocolate bar he'd been given as a child, shared with Bucky and eaten over the course of days, taking only a tiny mouthful at a time, letting in melt slowly over their tongues to enjoy the taste for every moment that they could. James clearly wanted to make the apple juice last as a treat he wasn't sure he would ever get again. Despite knowing about the many people he'd slaughtered over his career as an assassin, Steve couldn't help feeling a burst of pity for someone who would treat apple juice as so precious a thing. 

He also wondered about the way he'd tried to share it. Had the man had someone once, the way Steve had once had Bucky? Someone to share every good thing with. It seemed likely, especially given the way he'd talked about Bucky, about how no one could hurt him if he was dead, which made Steve think that James had thought that exact same thing about someone else. A family member? A younger brother? Or a friend who he'd lost? 

Once again, Fury rang him about five minutes after he got home. 

"I gather you got a name out of the prisoner today," he said. 

"I'm pretty sure it's not his real name." 

"Still better than we ever managed to get. What did he ask to be called?" 

"James." 

"Interesting. Was that your suggestion or his?" 

Steve wasn't sure why it was so interesting to Fury. It was a fairly common name, and could easily have been picked at random but something in Fury's tone suggested that he saw significance in it that Steve didn't. 

"He suggested it." 

"Interesting," Fury said again. 

"Why?" 

There was a moment of hesitation before Fury answered, "He was originally active as a Russian agent, but James seems an unusual choice for a Russian man to pick as an alias. Choices like this might tell us things even if he won't respond to direct questions." 

"I think he's lost someone he was close to," Steve said, explaining his reasoning about his comments regarding Bucky being safe from hurt and the attempt to share the apple juice. 

"I think we should play to that angle," Fury said. "If you can make him see you as a substitute for that person, he may open up more." 

"He seemed interested in Bucky. I thought I'd share more stories." 

Fury made a non-committal noise. 

After a minute, Fury said, "Try to avoid direct questions. He never answered a direct question in the whole time we were interrogating him, but he did make comments at other times." 

Trying to get information out of someone without asking them any questions would be a challenge. He tried to think if James had answered any questions of his. He'd said no when Steve had asked about calling him John. That had been an answer, but when he'd suggested James, they'd been on another subject entirely. It had been James who had asked about Bucky, and James who had initiated the conversation about the apple juice. 

"Making a connection with him would be easier if I could speak to him face to face." 

"It's too dangerous," Fury said, a little too quickly. Steve let it go. It wasn't that he particularly wanted to be in the same room as a notorious assassin responsible for kills that had destabilised governments, but it was hard to think of James as dangerous when he saw the man on the screen, rationing out apple juice or poking at a blanket in case it turned out to be a trap. He couldn't deny though that Fury had more information than he did on what this man was capable of. That was part of the problem. 

Steve gave his summary of the day's conversations, though he suspected that the agents on watch had already provided him any necessary details, and then thankfully Fury left him to his evening. He attempted to continue his catch up on books that everyone he met kept insisting he needed to read. Everyone he met, as soon as they recognised who he was, immediately came up with suggestions of books to read, films to watch, music to listen to, or some historic event from the last seven decades that he absolutely had to research. Steve duly noted them down in a little notebook but things kept getting added to the list faster than he could get through them. 

The latest was a book series about a boy wizard that he was finding entertaining, but despite the amusing writing style, his mind kept driving back to the man in the cell. Steve wondered about sending him a book. After all, Steve wasn't there the whole time so it would be nice for him to have something to alleviate the boredom. Perhaps they could discuss the book if they were both reading the same thing. It would give them something to talk about when Steve ran out of stories, which would take about two days at the rate he was going. Anything that might convince James to talk back had to be a winner. 

At that thought, he remembered what Fury had told him the day before, about how the most words James had said in one go until now was five. He tried to remember what those five were. He'd read through every file Fury had authorised him to see and his usually great memory was failing to think of the example Fury had referenced. This puzzle was distracting him from the book, so he set it aside and went to his computer, which let him connect to the Shield files. He didn't have to read them all again, thankfully, because he could apply filters to narrow the list of transcripts down to only those where the Winter Soldier had said something. The list of interrogation transcripts dropped from well over a hundred down to about half a dozen. 

In the first one, he only said one word. The interrogator was trying to get him to talk with comments about how he must be thirsty. The file didn't say precisely what was happening in terms of actions, but it was clear that the interrogator was offering to let the Winter Soldier have something to drink if he talked, all while making comments about how refreshing it was, presumably as he drank the water or whatever it was in front of him. The whole thing came across as cruel on the screen, laid out in lines of plain text. The interrogator told James that he could have a mouthful of drink if he said one word. After a long series of taunts, James said, "Fish." 

The Shield interrogator had conceded that it was a word and had let James drink, but had insisted that if he wanted anything else to drink, he'd have to give them something more useful. For the remainder of the questioning, while the interrogator tried to get James to answer specific questions, there was no response. Steve had to wonder how thirsty James must have been through that whole discussion. How long had he gone without a drink before this process had begun? It was hard to believe that the person running the interrogation was supposed to be one of the good guys. 

Steve felt a disturbing knot of worry in his gut over how little he knew about Fury, or about Shield. Shield had been started by Howard, Peggy and Colonel Philips, he knew, but Howard and Philips had been dead for years and Peggy was long-since retired. Shield could have changed enormously since Fury had taken over and Steve only really had Fury's word that he'd been friends with Howard and Peggy at all. 

He wondered about trying to see Peggy again. He'd gone to visit her as soon as Fury had let him out of the Shield debriefings and his mandatory lessons on how the world had changed in the decades he'd been in the ice. She had been barely coherent but the staff at her care facility claimed that she had better days and worse days. It was possible that Steve might be able to go see her on a better day and get some straight answers about Fury. Maybe she had left him as her successor because she trusted him, or maybe he'd forced her hand somehow, or maybe she'd already been deteriorating mentally at that point and he'd manipulated her into letting him take over. Steve had no way to know for sure but the more he was reading in these files, the less he trusted a man who would allow these practices to go on under his nose. 

Steve clicked on through the files, rereading the interrogation transcripts. He found one where James said four words. The person interrogating him had seemed to grow frustrated at the lack of responses and had told him that there were only two outcomes for his current situation: he could face the death penalty for all the assassinations and atrocities he'd committed over the years, or he could cooperate. James' response had been, "I could kill you." Four words. The only things he said in that whole transcribed interrogation session. 

There was no sign of him saying five words. It was possible that Fury had misremembered. He might have thought that James had said, "Or I could kill you," when being told about his potential options. Or there could be another interrogation file Fury hadn't seen fit to share. Steve was suspecting the latter. 

It was interesting too that the interrogator had talked about the death penalty, about execution, and yet the later files didn't mention that possibility at all. James had been imprisoned by Shield for a year and a half, long after any attempts to get information out of him had failed. Why had Fury kept him alive if he was so dangerous? Why pay agents to watch him night and day? 

Steve stared at the files he'd been allowed access to, feeling like he was trying to complete a puzzle with half the pieces missing.


	6. Chapter 6

The asset woke from his dream, the sound of a gunshot ringing in his mind. The dream images were fragmentary, slotting together in ways that made no sense and didn't leave a coherent narrative. He rarely dreamt and now he remembered why he disliked it so much. His mind was filled with a jumble of images that made no sense, pieces of things he felt that he ought to know tumbling together into a chaotic mass. 

There had been a man, kneeling in a road, calling him Sergeant Barnes. Beside them, a car had been hovering in the air. The man had been holding a teddybear which the asset had shot. 

The asset lay in his cell, head resting on the blanket, trying to make sense of the pieces the dream had left behind. A handler had told him once that dreams were a mistake, the result of memory echoes left behind by a wipe. They were a sign that a wipe had not been completed fully and he was supposed to report it to his handlers to be wiped again. No one had wiped him for a very long time; it was no wonder that he was starting to malfunction. 

He knew the man from his dream, knew he had been a target the asset had killed, but he hadn't shot anyone that night. He had made the deaths look like a car accident, but the car hadn't been hovering and there certainly hadn't been a teddybear. Real facts from his past mingled with nonsense images. The man had spoken to him though. The asset found the memory he'd been allowed to keep, found the words the man had spoken. The man had called him Sergeant Barnes, even though Bucky Barnes was dead. 

The explanation for that was simple: the man had mistaken him for someone else in the dark because their faces and colouring was similar. That didn't explain why the asset's mind would link this memory with the other images, though he supposed that a malfunction didn't have to be logical. He just needed to decide what to do now. He was supposed to report all malfunctions to his handlers, but he wasn't allowed to reveal anything to his enemies. How was he supposed to act when his handlers and his enemies were the same people? The protocol about not revealing information could be superseded by other protocols, like the one to escape if possible, but no one had given him any situations where the protocol about reporting malfunctions could be superseded. Did that mean it took preference? 

He knew that some protocols were weighted, meaning that when they came into conflict one was more important than another. There were general rules that could be overruled in specific circumstances, and having a dream was a specific circumstance when compared to the general situation that had been his reality for several months. 

He made a decision, a part of him half-expecting the pain of punishment just for deciding anything beyond the details of how to complete a mission within parameters. When no pain manifested, he sat up to await the return of Steve's voice. He believed he had woken earlier than normal but, despite the lingering tiredness, he had no desire to try and get back to sleep. He waited, letting seconds and minutes pass. Steve had said he would return. He would start speaking soon and the asset could wait until then.   
The asset was good at waiting. 

"Good morning," Steve said at last, his words bringing with them a sense of relief that the wait was over. "You're awake early." 

"I had a dream," the asset announced. 

"Oh. A bad one?" 

"Dreams are bad. They are a malfunction. I'm not supposed to dream." 

"Everyone dreams. We don't always remember them, but every person on the planet has dreams." 

"I'm not a person, I'm an asset. Assets aren't supposed to dream. Dreams are a malfunction, a sign that a wipe was incomplete and I retain memory fragments that I'm not supposed to have. I need to be wiped again to fix the malfunction." 

There was a very long silence before Steve spoke again. Perhaps he was looking for a chair or requesting authorisation to bring the asset out of the cell for processing. 

When Steve spoke again, there was something strained about his tone, "You're saying that the people you were with before, the people giving you orders, used to wipe your memories?" 

"Yes. I have not been wiped since my capture. I am beginning to malfunction. I must go through processing to be wiped again to prevent further malfunctions." 

"You're not a machine!" 

Steve sounded angry and the asset winced instinctively, expecting punishment even though Steve was not physically present. Punishment could take any number of forms. Perhaps Steve would release tear gas into the room or run electric currents through the walls and floor. Perhaps the temperature would be raised or lowered. Specifics varied depending on the whims of the handler, but always anger meant pain. 

But no pain manifested. 

When Steve spoke again, he sounded calmer, but there was still and undercurrent of anger in his voice, "I guess this explains why you never answered any questions about your missions or the people giving you orders if you couldn't remember any of it." 

The asset did remember many of his missions, the ones where there was less concern about security, because that information could be used to improve performance on future missions, but he wasn't allowed to remember anything irrelevant. He wasn't allowed to remember anything that could be used to implicate his handlers in case he could be persuaded to talk, and he certainly wasn't allowed to remember anything that might make him believe mistakenly that he was a person. He couldn't say that to Steve though because he wasn't allowed to reveal information and this information wasn't pertinent to the need to request a wipe. 

"A periodic general wipe is necessary for proper functioning." 

He couldn't order a handler to give him a wipe and Steve was a captor and therefore not a normal handler. He had to rely on making it clear how important this was. 

"That's not going to happen," Steve said. He was still angry. The asset was tense, waiting for the pain. 

There was another long pause, during which the asset considered all the ways he might be hurt. If Steve wanted to administer the pain personally, he might come into the cell to punish him and then the asset would get to see what he looked like, which would mitigate the punishment somewhat. Or perhaps Steve would send people in to beat him while he watched on the camera. Perhaps the asset would be taken from the cell and placed somewhere with the purpose of inflicting pain, like the box that squeezed on all sides with a lining of spikes to pierce his skin. Perhaps this was taking so long because Steve was devising the perfect punishment. 

"James," Steve said, "you are a human being, a person. Whatever you've been told, whatever people have done to you, you're still a person." 

The asset knew that wasn't correct, but he was in enough trouble without angering Steve further by arguing with him on this point. 

"Having your memories erased, having someone play with your mind like that, that's not right. I don't know, maybe you volunteered for this, maybe you wanted them to take away the memories of the horrible things you did, the crimes you committed, but... but it sounds to me like someone wanted to control you. It sounds to me like someone erased your memories so that you would believe them when they said you weren't a person, and that's just evil." 

The asset didn't have a response to that. What his handlers did was necessary. He knew that because they told him. His memories were erased because they needed to be erased to prevent malfunction. Steve wasn't a real handler. He didn't have the necessary information to understand these things. He thought it was evil simply because he was mistaken and thought that the asset was a person. The asset stayed silent because he didn't want to increase the inevitable punishment. 

He had told his current handler about the malfunction. He had done all he could. It wasn't like he could wipe himself, especially not trapped in a cell with no equipment. He could just let Steve handle it. Perhaps when the malfunctions became worse, Steve would understand this was necessary and perform the wipe. 

The asset sat on his blanket and waited for Steve to begin talking again or for the punishment to begin. 

"This has been a difficult subject," Steve said at last, "How about I talk about something fun to lighten the mood?" 

He began talking at length, telling stories about how he had been expected to perform on stage to get people to give money to the war effort. He talked about his first attempts, reading his lines from paper taped to his shield, how he was expected to punch a fake Hitler and how the children always shouted warnings at him from the audience as the actor approached him from behind. He talked about how silly it was. He had talked about this a bit the day before, but now he gave different details, telling a story about how a mother had handed him a baby for a photograph and how the baby had thrown up on his uniform. He talked about how a small group of the girls, one night between performances, had shared a bit too much wine and decided to teach him how to join in the kick line and how he'd nearly lost a shoe when it went flying off his foot. When Steve was talking about how he had drawn pictures of the girls and how they had paid him for them so that they could send them to their sweethearts, the asset almost forgot to be afraid of the punishment. 

"Things didn't change much after I got involved with the war," Steve said, "we were still filmed for propaganda movies and there were the comic books and a ridiculous radio show. Those things didn't bother with reality in the slightest. The comics aged Bucky down by about a decade so that I had this kid sidekick going with me into battle, and then Howard came up with the idea for the Bucky Bears." 

"Howard Stark," the asset said, barely realising he had spoken until the name had passed his lips. 

The named lined up with the images from his dream. He hadn't been told the name of his target, as he so often wasn't, but he knew that the man was Howard Stark. 

"Yeah, that's right. Howard Stark, the man who built the machine that made me stronger. He thought it would be fun to make a toy out of the Bucky character in the comics. As far as his ideas went, it was a harmless one. Most of the things he dreamt up had a tendency to explode, but the bears were just these silly toys in mask and a blue coat." 

The asset didn't have any memory of a bear like that, not consciously, but the bear he had seen in his dream matched the one Steve was describing. How could he dream about something he didn't know? Were there memory fragments in his mind about Howard Stark, fragments that should have been erased? 

Steve was still talking. "Definitely safer than his other inventions. Don't get me wrong, Howard was a genius, but he got distracted very easily. After one mission, we ended up half frozen from the cold, and he got it into his head to start building body armour that could heat up, as well as protecting from weapons. The problem was, it went a little too well. It would heat up alright, until it started burning the person wearing it, and then it would explode. There was something wrong with the power source, but instead of figuring out why the thing blew up so it could be useful, he lost interest in the project and decided to build a better fondue fork." 

Fondue. Just cheese and bread, the asset knew despite having no memory of experiencing it. It didn't mean anything dirty, though a teasing tone and the right expression could make it sound like it did. The bread was speared onto forks with long handles and dipped into melted cheese, but the weight of the cheese might make the bread slide off the fork and be lost in the pot. A new design of fork could prevent that from happening. The asset could almost picture it. Another prong coming in from the side could hold the bread in place, but there would need to be a mechanism to move that prong in and out, to grip or release the bread at the appropriate time, maybe using wires. 

Steve continued talking, "Howard's fondue forks were actually pretty clever. He made this little claw mechanism that would grip the bread from the side so it didn't fall off into the cheese with a control for it on the handle that operated it with wires." 

The asset felt like someone had injected something icy into his veins. He had pictured the fork in his mind before Steve had described it. He had known what it would be like. Had he seen it before? It hadn't been there when he had killed Howard Stark. Had he seen Howard Stark before that point? Did the memories that were supposed to be erased include the bear and the fondue fork? Perhaps other things that had been in his dream were from memories linked to this man Steve had known. 

"Did he make a car fly?" the asset asked. 

"He did," Steve answered, and the asset felt the sensation of ice inside him again. He was remembering things about Howard Stark that he wasn't supposed to know. The memories weren't coherent but they were slipping through the memory wipe. He was malfunctioning worse than he had realised and the dream was just the start. 

"You have to wipe me," the asset said. "I'm not supposed to remember that. I'm not supposed to remember anything about him."


	7. Chapter 7

Steve was still shaken by the idea of wiping a person's mind, that James expected him to somehow remove his memories. The more he learned about James, the harder it was to see him as a vicious criminal, because it sounded like he'd been manipulated. All his talk about people not being hurt when they were dead was bad enough, but if someone had been deliberately playing with his memories to convince him he wasn't a person, that was pure evil. That called into question whether he could be held culpable for any of the crimes he had committed. 

James had talked about himself like he was a thing, a machine that could be broken. 

But the fact that he was asking to have his memories removed wasn't the only alarming thing about this conversation. He remembered that Howard Stark had made a car fly at the Expo in New York. There hadn't been major publicity about that because the stunt had ended in the demo car failing, but the story had been printed in newspapers and had probably spread far enough to have been reasonably well known at the time. But it wasn't something that would have been common discussion for very long. Fury had said that James was older than he seemed, old enough to have been involved in assassinations for decades. Was he old enough to have been around when Stark had put on that show at the Expo? 

What if James had been part of Red Skull's experiments to recreate the formula that had made him and Steve? Steve thought of Zola, of the labs in the Hydra bases that they'd raided. He felt a sick twisting in his guts at the thought that James might have been in there, or that they might have missed a base. 

"Steve?" James said, voice wary, and Steve realised he'd been staring at the screen for a minute or so, not saying a thing. 

He pressed the button to activate the microphone again. 

"Sorry. I was just thinking about what you said. I'm not going to wipe your memory." 

"But I'm malfunctioning. It's necessary." 

"For one thing, I don't know if Shield have any equipment that could do anything of the sort." He really hoped they didn't. He might distrust Fury but he really hoped he wasn't capable of keeping machines that could do something so awful lying around. "For another, it wouldn't be the right thing to do. You're a person and your memories are a major part of what makes you you. Stripping you of that would be the wrong thing to do. It was wrong for the people who removed your memories in the first place to take them and if you're getting some of them back, that's a good thing." 

He didn't know the whole story of what had happened to James. Maybe James had volunteered for the process to remove his memories. Maybe something traumatic had happened to him and he'd chosen this as a way to not have to deal with it. 

But it was hard to picture any scenario that was positive for him when he acted like he thought he was a thing. Did he even know his own name? It was obvious that James wasn't his real name, but perhaps he'd had to take a stab at guessing because he didn't know. James had been used and used horribly for a long period of time. He didn't know exactly how long but Fury had implied he'd been operating for decades and if he knew about Howard's flying car, that had certain implications about his age. Maybe he'd even been there that night, as Steve and Bucky had, watching from the crowd as Howard laughed off his failure with the fact he'd been talking about the technology of the future. 

Steve stared at the screen. A hundred jigsaw pieces slotted together to form a picture he knew was impossible. He tried to keep himself from even thinking the thought because it was just hurt more when it was inevitably proved wrong. But still he couldn't help wondering about the idea, fitting each little clue in alongside the next. 

Fury had thought that Steve might be able to make a connection to James when no one else had. Fury had deliberately concealed any pictures or videos of James where Steve might see his face. James had picked that name while they'd been talking about Bucky, despite Steve never having mentioned Bucky's real name. Even his interest in Bucky was another clue. It was ludicrous. Steve knew that there was no chance in hell that this idea was right. He knew that Bucky had died, known that no one could have survived that fall. Hell, even James had agreed that Bucky was dead. But still, he wondered. 

"Sir?" asked the agent at his side. "Are you alright?" 

Steve's attention snapped back to the present, to the room he was in, the agent at his side, and the figure on the screen. 

"I'm fine," he said, even though his heart was pounding so loudly that he wouldn't have been surprised if James could hear without the microphone. "I was just thinking. Wiping someone's memories like that is horrible." 

The agent made a noise of agreement, nodding. 

"I need to take a bathroom break," Steve said, hurrying from the little control room before the agent could say anything else. If the agent thought anything was off, hopefully he just thought Steve was distressed by the concept and didn't want anyone to see him getting upset. 

Steve shut himself in the small bathroom and tried to get himself under control. He couldn't have a nervous break-down over an idea and he definitely couldn't let the agent who was reporting to Fury guess what he suspected. 

Steve wasn't sure what the hell to do now. He needed to know, knew that he wouldn't be able to stop thinking about this until he got a clear look at James' face and determined one way or the other if he was right. But he also knew that Fury didn't want him to know. Fury had gone to great lengths to keep Steve from seeing James' face and if Steve's wild notion was correct, that meant he couldn't let Fury know that he knew. Steve would probably find himself thrown out of here by a whole army of agents. If Steve was right, he couldn't do anything until he had a proper plan because if he tried to break James out of here, Fury would bring the whole force of Shield against him. He couldn't let Fury know he even suspected anything until he had a fully formed plan of what to do next. 

Besides, there was still a very good chance that Steve was wrong. 

The height of the fall from the train was impossible for anyone to have survived. Even if Bucky had hit the river instead of the ground, at that distance, it wouldn't have made much difference. If the fall hadn't killed him, the cold surely would have, and he'd have been alone and injured in the wilderness. Steve was pretty sure that fall would have killed him if he'd been the one to have fallen in Bucky's place, even with Erskine's serum and the endurance and healing that provided. It wasn't like Bucky had anything like that. 

Although Zola had been experimenting on him, trying to recreate the serum. Fury had said that the man in the cell had gone through something similar to Steve's treatment. 

Steve needed to pull himself together. His thoughts were going round in circles between 'it fits so well' and 'it's impossible'. He needed to see James' face to be sure but he needed to do so without his Shield watchdog knowing he'd done so. And he had to get out of the bathroom soon before this became too suspicious. 

He straightened, a plan forming. He wasn't the only person here with human bodily functions. 

Before heading back to the control room, he stopped by the fancy coffee machine down the hall, the one with about a hundred buttons and multiple different cup sizes. Thankfully, the machine's screen gave its instructions clearly and he was able to ignore the majority of the buttons and come away with two of the largest cups, full to the brim with coffee. He carried them carefully back to the control room and set one down in front of the Shield agent, who thanked him for it and took a mouthful. 

"Anything happened in the past couple of minutes?" Steve asked. 

"I sent down his next meal and he said thank you," the agent replied. He sounded almost amused, as though having his prisoner thank him was a fun novelty. Steve tried to hide his distaste. He nodded, sipped his coffee and then pressed the microphone button. 

"I'm going to tell you about my seventh birthday," Steve said. He wasn't sure why he picked this memory, but he needed to say something to fill the silence and to pretend to the Shield agent that nothing was wrong. On the screen, James didn't seem to react, but he wasn't demanding that Steve wipe his memory, so that was an improvement. Steve spoke slowly, occasionally stopping to take little sips of his coffee. Beside him, the agent took larger mouthfuls without seeming to notice he was doing so, drinking more from boredom than anything else. 

"When I was seven," Steve said, "I didn't really have any friends so I wasn't expecting much by way of presents. I got a new set of pencils from my Ma but I thought that was all I was going to get. I was going down to the park to try some drawing with them when I saw Isaac, whose dad ran the butcher's shop, and he waved at me and signalled me over. He had one hand behind his back like he was hiding something from me and he said he had a birthday present. Now, Isaac wasn't my friend but his dad was nice to me and my Ma and sometimes he'd give us a little bit extra when we were struggling, so I thought maybe his dad had given him an offcut of meat to give to me or something. It was still a birthday present, so I was pretty happy and I hurried over to him. Then I got there and he pulled his hand out from behind his back and all he'd been hiding was a fist. He hit me round the side of my head before I knew what was happening and then he laughed and called me an idiot for thinking anyone would get me a present." 

On the screen, James' metal hand tightened into a fist, but he said nothing. 

"I was really upset, but I couldn't go home and let my Ma see me upset on my birthday because that would just make her upset, so I kept going to the park. There were a bunch of boys from school there, hanging out and setting off fireworks even though it was still daylight. When the saw me, one of them, Max I think his name was, put his hand behind his back exactly like Isaac had and told me he had a present for me. I knew he didn't have anything this time and tried to run away, but I started wheezing after about five steps and the whole lot of them pounced on me. They said their present was toughening me up, that I'd never stop being a scrawny wimp if I couldn't learn to take a punch. Every one of them hit me, not on the face this time, but where the bruises would be hidden by clothes. Every one of them punched me and then told me happy birthday. I tried fighting back and just got shoved in the dirt for good measure. They left me like that, bruised and dirty in the park." 

"Assholes," James said. 

"Absolutely. They were just kids but they already knew how to be vicious little fucks." 

"Go for the groin next time," James said, and Steve almost stopped breathing. It could still be a coincidence. It still didn't mean anything that James said that when Bucky's words were still clear in his memory, 'Next time, don't try to be all polite about it and just go for the groin.' 

Beside him, the Shield agent had finished the coffee but showed no sign of moving yet, so Steve continued the story. 

"I hung around the park for a bit and that's when I saw," he caught himself before saying 'you', "I saw Bucky. We weren't really friends at that point but I'd met him a few times and he seemed nice. I thought we might have been on our way to becoming friends. But he had a hand behind his back and he told me he had a present for me, just like the others had." 

"Bucky Barnes wouldn't hit you," James said. The use of the third person made Steve want to scream, but he pretended nothing was wrong. 

"I know that now," he said, "but back then I barely knew him. All I knew was that this boy I thought was different from the others was doing the exact same thing. That hurt worse than all the punches and I burst into tears right then, at the idea that Bucky might hit me too." Steve almost laughed at the memory. "Poor Bucky had no idea what was wrong. He didn't know what the other boys had decided to do. He just saw me start crying and he came to try and comfort me. That's when I saw that he really had been hiding something behind his back, a present wrapped up in newspaper. He'd been completely genuine and I'd thought the worst of him, and that made me cry even more, about how Bucky wouldn't want me for a friend if I thought such horrible things about him." 

"But he was your friend." 

"Yeah, he was, and when he got out of me why I'd been upset, he offered to go beat up the other boys for me. He still wanted to be my friend and he gave me my birthday present." 

"What was it?" 

Steve took his interest as a good sign even if the lack of memory was a bad one. 

Beside him, the agent mouthed 'bathroom' at Steve. Steve gave a nod, answering the question as though the agent leaving was the least of his concerns. 

"It was a sketchbook. He'd talked to my Ma about what she was giving me so that their presents would match. That's when I knew he was serious about being my friend." 

The door had closed behind the agent, leaving Steve alone in the control room. He said quickly, "James, this is important. I need you to look directly at the camera. I need to see your face." 

He expected James to argue, or to sit motionlessly as he'd sat through so much else, but he shifted position and tilted his head back, staring straight up at the camera in the high ceiling. The curtains of hair fell away to reveal the familiar features of Bucky Barnes staring up at him. This wasn't wishful thinking or jumping to conclusions. Steve knew that face better than he knew his own. Bucky Barnes was alive and trapped inside a Shield cell with no memory of who he was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The moment has come. I couldn't keep Steve from figuring it out forever. :)


	8. Chapter 8

"Bucky," Steve's voice over the speaker was quiet and shaky, so full of emotion that it sounded like he might burst into tears like the boy in his story had done. 

The asset knew what his features looked like. He had had a long conversation with the interrogator who wore the eyepatch about the fact he looked like Sergeant James Bucky Barnes. He had tried to make the asset believe that he was Bucky Barnes, but the asset knew better. He knew that Bucky Barnes was dead. Hydra had killed him and that was good because a dead man couldn't feel pain. 

"Bucky Barnes is dead," the asset said. 

"Bucky," Steve said, then corrected himself, "James, this is important. Look away from the camera now." 

The asset lowered his head, letting the hair fall forward to shield his face from view again. 

"James," Steve said, "don't look up at the camera again unless I say it's alright. Do you understand?" 

"Yes." He didn't understand the reasoning, but he didn't need to. He understood enough to follow the order. It was strange to follow orders from a captor but something felt right about following Steve's order when he spoke in such an urgent tone. He would keep his head down as needed. 

"Thank you, James." There was a brief pause and then Steve said, his tone back to its normal, casual sound, "I should tell you about my first visit to Paris." 

And so things went back to the routine Steve had established, with Steve telling stories and the asset listening. Steve told stories from the war, but mostly focused on the downtime with his team rather than any battles. That made sense, because the information he was providing to the asset was less likely to be important than stories of combat. The information didn't provide the asset with any insights on how he should defeat Steve if they ever came face to face in battle, except providing him with the knowledge that Steve might be caught off guard if approached while sleeping. The knowledge didn't reassure the asset. Instead, it brought a sense of concern. Someone would need to keep watch while Steve slept or when he was distracted by playing poker with other soldiers. 

"Do you have someone to keep watch?" the asset asked. 

"Do you mean in the war? Yeah, we set a watch on the camp when we were in combat zones." 

"What about now?" 

"I'm not in a war now," Steve said. "I don't need someone to keep watch." 

The asset tensed. Of course that was the response of a man who threw himself onto grenades. Steve had no sense of self-preservation. He needed someone to watch out for him. How did he not realise that? There could be danger everywhere. The asset hadn't lost all his memories of missions. He knew how easy it was to get close to someone in a crowd and slip a knife between the ribs. He knew how easy it was to set up a sniper position from a building across the street and take a shot through a window as someone moved around an apartment. He knew how someone could be taken off-guard while sleeping with poisonous gas pumped into a room so that they would never wake up. 

Steve needed someone to be alert for those different threats. The asset knew that there were few operatives as skilled as he was, but an assassin wouldn't have to be as good as him to take out someone so unconcerned with his own safety. 

"You should request an asset for protection," the asset said. 

"An asset?" 

"Like me," the asset said, and then added as an afterthought, "but one who isn't malfunctioning. Assets are useful for protection as well as assassination." That probably counted as giving away information, but it was more important that Steve was protected and there was no immediate punishment in response to his words. 

There was a long pause. 

"You're not an asset," Steve said. "You're not a thing to be used. You're a person." 

"I'm not an asset," the asset agreed, but then he corrected Steve with, "I'm _the_ asset." 

"You're a human being, James. You deserve to be treated like one." 

The asset didn't attempt to correct him any further. Arguing with handlers just meant pain. He sat in silence and waited for Steve to speak again. 

He did, eventually, saying, "Thank you for worrying about me. I'm fine, but it's nice that you care and I'd like to give you something as a reward for that, and for being so cooperative today. There's something a little extra to come with your meal." 

"Are we sharing it?" the asset asked, thinking of the apple juice. Assuming Steve was being honest about the thing with his meal being a reward and not really a punishment in disguise for speaking up and revealing information, then it was important that Steve have some too. 

"Tell you what," Steve said, "I'll keep a little bit and we'll eat it together." 

There was a pause in the conversation followed by the click of the chute unlocking. A moment later, his food and water slid down, along with a brown bar of something. He knew what it was even before he sniffed at it and his mouth starting watering at the sight. Steve had broken one piece from the end, but the rest of the chocolate bar was here for the asset to eat. He didn't think he'd ever eaten chocolate before, not in his conscious memories, but his heart was already racing with anticipation as he brought it to his mouth and bit off a tiny corner. He let the chocolate melt on his tongue, coating it with sweetness, and an image burst into his mind like an explosion. A boy with blond hair and smears of brown around his mouth gave him a chocolatey grin and said, "How many girls gave you chocolates for Valentine's Day?" 

There had been a response, words uttered by his own voice, but a voice that was cracked with the changes of puberty and full of more emotion than he could remember ever speaking with. "I can't help it if I'm irresistible." 

The boy had called him a jerk for that, but he'd been smiling. The asset had divided the haul of chocolate between them even though the boy had insisted it was fairer if the asset had the larger share because the chocolate had been given to him. 

"James? James?" Steve was talking to him. How long had Steve been talking to him? 

"Steve," he said, to indicate that he was listening. 

"Are you alright?" 

"I experienced a memory." He knew this was a malfunction, but he didn't want this memory to be erased. 

"What sort of memory?" 

"Sharing chocolates with a boy." 

"That must have been from before you became an assassin." 

The asset didn't know what to do with that information. The concept of a before was utterly alien to him. He was the asset. He was an assassin, an operative, a spy or bodyguard, a killer, a machine who operated under orders. The idea that he might have ever been something before that was hard to grasp. But he remembered the boy and the chocolate. That wasn't a memory that belonged to an asset. Was Steve right about this? Had he been someone before he was the asset? 

He thought of the folder, of the picture of James Buchanan (Bucky) Barnes. He knew that Bucky Barnes was dead, but was it possible that the asset had been built from the pieces of him? Was it possible that pieces of the man Steve had known were pieces of him? 

***

Steve somehow made it through the rest of the day without ripping the Shield facility to pieces and breaking Bucky out of there. He didn't think his Shield watchdog had noticed anything, but all it would take was for him to rewind over the few minutes of security footage when he'd been in the bathroom and he'd know that the secret was out. Steve wasn't sure what Fury would do then. Locking Steve out of the facility was a likely option, but he might also decide to move Bucky to some place Steve didn't know about. 

That was what Steve was most afraid of as he slid another blanket down the chute and bid Bucky goodnight. He headed back to his apartment uncertain if Bucky would still be there tomorrow. 

He needed to get Bucky out of that cell, to help him somehow. Exactly how he would help him was as much of a mystery as how he could possibly keep Bucky safe from a global agency who seemed to have a whole army at their disposal. Steve didn't know nearly enough about evading capture in this century, so he was sure that if he tried to go on the run with Bucky, Fury's people would find him within five minutes. To get Bucky away from Fury, he would need resources. He would need a safe place to go. He would need help. 

But who the hell would he turn to for help? 

Back in the war, he had the commandos. He had Peggy and Howard. But Peggy was in a care facility in no condition to help rescue a prisoner and the others were dead. Steve had no one to turn to for help. 

His phone rang as he stepped into the apartment, Fury's name on a screen. A part of him was tempted to ignore the call, another part wanted to scream out his anger as the way Bucky was being treated, but he knew that the safest option was to pretend that everything was as it had been on the previous nights. He couldn't let on that he knew who Bucky was. He had to let Fury think he was winning, but he was also aware of how the Shield agents were reporting on everything that happened. 

He made himself answer the phone and tried to sound normal. 

"Fury." 

"Cap. How did things go today?" 

"I think James is more of a victim than a culprit," Steve said. He must have learned some acting skills from his time doing stage shows because he managed, somehow, to not sound like he wanted to reached through the phone and strangle Fury. 

"What makes you say that?" 

Because he was Bucky and Fury absolutely had to know that. He knew that Bucky wasn't a war criminal. 

He forced his voice to stay calm. "Because he talked about being wiped, about how he wasn't supposed to remember things. He was anxious about the fact he was dreaming, said it was a malfunction like he was a machine. I think whoever he was working for played with his head, erased his memories until he didn't have anything left and they could make him believe whatever they told him, do whatever they wanted." 

He was getting worked up again. He made himself take a breath. That gave Fury another chance to speak. 

"I suspect you're right." 

He didn't mention Bucky, didn't take this opportunity to come clean about his deception. If Fury had admitted the truth then, Steve might have been able to forgive him. He didn't. 

"If he's a victim," Steve said, "he should be getting medical treatment. He should be getting care, not being kept locked away in solitary confinement." 

"He's too dangerous. Twenty seven agents died at his hands to capture him or to keep him from escaping." 

Steve hadn't known that. Fury had talked about Bucky being a threat, but the body count hadn't come into the discussions. 

"I think you're right that he's been brainwashed," Fury said, "programmed like a machine, but right now, he's programmed to go back to the people pulling his strings. If we give him the slightest opportunity, he will try to escape again, which will lead to more bodies and the Winter Soldier back in the hands of the people who wiped his mind in the first place. No. The only way he's coming out of that cell is if I see solid proof that he remembers who he was before the wipe and that's he's not a threat to anyone." 

Steve hated that he could almost see Fury's point. As mad as he was, Steve could acknowledge that keeping Bucky from running back to the people who had hurt him was a worthy goal, but that didn't excuse the way Bucky had been treated. That cell had been empty of anything even resembling human comfort. How was Bucky supposed to remember who he was when he was given nothing to engage with? 

"Just keep doing what you're doing, Cap," Fury told him. "Maybe there will be a breakthrough." 

Steve ended the call. Fury might have been right that Bucky couldn't just be let out of that facility to go wherever he wanted, but Steve was still mad as hell about everything else, and about Fury's tactic of keeping him in the dark about who Bucky was. Bucky needed to be somewhere secure, fine, while he remembered who he was, but he deserved human decency during that time. He deserved things like a bed and a shower and the ability to communicate with other human beings. He needed access to leisure activities and information on his own history. He needed a million different things that Fury hadn't seen fit to provide. 

Steve just wasn't sure how to give him those things, and how to get him safely away from Fury. He was pretty confident he wouldn't be able to do it by himself, but who could he turn to for help? It wasn't like he could go to Stark and ask him to whip up an invention to hold Bucky secure while he recovered. 

That thought sparked an idea inside his head. He might not be able to go to Howard Stark for help, but there was another Stark. 

Steve didn't want to rush into this, didn't want to approach Stark without a plan, without knowing more about him, so he got out his new computer and started searching the internet.


	9. Chapter 9

There was a lot of information on the internet on Tony Stark. A lot of it was in the form of sex scandals and gossip stories about him being caught drunk at some important function with some important person. There were several decrying the state of modern morals at one incident in which it appeared that one of the people involved in a drunken romp was male, to which the only official statement make by Stark's lawyers was that his sexuality was between him and whoever he chose to spend time with and should not be the speculation of the press. 

There were other articles from more serious media outlets talking about his company, his inventions, his genius, and then his capture in a war zone. 

Steve had been paying careful attention to the dates of the various articles he read, so the shift in content was obvious. The newspapers, or whatever the internet equivalent was, stopped talking about drunken romps and started speculating about a nervous breakdown. There was a video Steve watched in which he announced that his weapons company was going to stop making weapons, which spawned a whole host of articles. Financial website talked about shareholder confidence and drops in the stock market and other terms which were frankly bewildering to Steve which seemed to suggest that Stark had just steered his company off a cliff. 

And there were stories about Iron Man, this figure in armour who swooped in to save the day like a hero in one of the pulp novels Bucky had always loved so much. There were statements from Stark about trying to protect people, about wanting to undo the harm his company had caused, protecting people from weapons he had played a role in building. 

It wasn't the stories about Iron Man that convinced Steve he could trust Stark with his current predicament. It was the other stories. The stories speculating about his mental stability because he handed over a thousand dollar tip to a waitress who spilled wine on his suit, and the one about how he'd apparently bought an apartment for a homeless man who had asked him for spare change. He made wild and ridiculous gestures, throwing money around like it meant nothing to him, changing people's lives in a ridiculously haphazard manner. There were stories about people who had helped him in a shop or served him in a bar going home to find that their student loans had been paid off or that their family's medical bills were all taken care of. 

Steve didn't think he was doing it for attention. He also suspected that there were many more stories that weren't reported because the people involved said that they had no proof it was him. There were showy gestures, sure, but there were also moments when he would see a fellow human being in distress and just throw money at them to make the distress go away. 

Steve would take the chance that he could help with his distress. 

But he had to approach this cautiously. He knew he was being followed. He wouldn't have been surprised to find out that someone was listening to his phone calls or spying on him in his home. It was also possible that Fury had some way to track what Steve did on his computer, so he might already know that he was researching Stark. He couldn't give too much away but he had to still get the message across to Stark. 

He considered for a while and then looked up the number for Stark Industries listed on the website. 

"Good evening, Stark Industries, how may I direct your call?" a pleasant, British voice answered. 

This would be the first challenge, getting past the receptionist to be connected to Stark himself. 

"This is Steve Rogers, I mean, Captain Rogers. I knew Mr Stark's father. I was hoping to talk to him." 

"You were hoping to talk to Howard Stark?" the voice asked. 

"No. Sorry. Tony Stark." 

Steve expected to be asked to verify that he was who he claimed he was, but the British man said, "Please hold. I will check his availability." 

He thought he was most likely going to be fobbed off with excuses because the receptionist didn't think he really was Steve Rogers, but after a minute, he heard a voice that was definitely not British say, "So you're the famous Steve Rogers, are you?" 

"I am. So you're the famous Tony Stark?" 

"Infamous, certainly. What can I do for you?" 

Steve scraped his thumb across the mouthpiece of the phone and then gave three short taps. He wasn't sure how the noise would be transmitted down the phone line. He hoped the Fury was listening in on his apartment and not his phone specifically because then the spies might miss this. He also hoped that Stark was as clever as he claimed he was in all the interviews. 

"I knew your father," he said, before tapping the mouthpiece twice and then running his thumb along it again. 

"He might have mentioned you. A few million times," Stark said. 

Two scrapes and a tap. "We were friends, during the war. He was someone I trusted." 

Two scrapes of his thumb. Trying to remember the patterns of Morse code while talking was surprisingly challenging. 

"He told a lot of stories about you," Stark said. 

A single tap. "I could probably tell you some stories about him." Another single tap. 

"Chances are you probably knew him better than I did." 

A single scrape of his thumb. "Oh, I'm sure that's not true. I only knew him a year or so after all, you knew him a lot longer." 

He didn't have any more letters to tap in. He hoped that they made their way to the other end of the call clearly enough and that Tony could figure out what he meant by them. The letters B U G M E E T spelled out in Morse code wasn't the most straight forward message, but he hoped it would get across that he thought he was being listened in on and that he wanted to meet. Assuming Tony knew Morse code. Did people still use Morse code in these days of internet and cell phones? 

"I'm not sure this is an argument I want to win," Stark said, "so I'll let it go for now. Did you have a reason for calling?" 

"Like I said, your father was a friend and, well, I don't have many of those left." That was true enough that he hoped it would sell this whole conversation to Fury's minions. "I thought it would be nice to talk to you. Maybe we could meet up some time." 

"You know what, I'm actually in New York now putting a few finishing touches on my new building - you might have seen it." 

Steve had seen pictures of the new monument to ego with the Stark name emblazoned across the side. He wanted Stark on his side so he just made a noise of confirmation without letting how his real opinion of that eyesore. 

"I could stop by and we could grab a bite to eat." 

Whether the message had been recognised or not, this was exactly what Steve wanted. He gave his agreement and Stark promised to stop by soon. Soon turned out to be twenty minutes. Stark rang the buzzer and told Steve to come out as he had them reservations somewhere nice. 

A black car was idling outside and Tony Stark was back inside the rear of it, but he flung the door open for Steve, who slid inside. Stark held a finger to his lips and then brought out a phone of a different model to the one Fury had given Steve. He pointed it at Steve and then gave a little nod. 

"Looks like a simple clone of your phone," Stark said. 

"Meaning?" 

"Meaning that they'll be able to hear your calls and read your messages, but we should be fine to talk. Jarvis is blocking the signal anyway, just to be on the safe side." 

"Jarvis?" Steve asked. He glanced towards the driver, who was already pulling them away from the building and into traffic. Stark waved a dismissive hand. 

"No, that's Happy, my driver. Jarvis is my AI." At Steve's puzzled look, he went on, "Artificial intelligence. Basically a really clever, fancy computer." 

"I like to think I am more than that, sir," said a voice from Stark's phone, the same voice who had answered Steve's phone call earlier. He wasn't sure what to think about the fact that he'd been talking to a computer. 

"So what's with all the cloak and dagger stuff?" Stark asked. "Has Fury recruited you into his network of spies?" 

"It's Fury I think is spying on me." 

"Could be worse. He locked me in my own home with an agent babysitter." 

Steve stared at him. He wasn't certain for a moment if he was being serious. "What did you do?" 

"A whole bunch of reckless stuff, but in my defence the device that was saving my life was also poisoning me and I thought I had a few months to live at best." 

"That... sounds rough." 

"Yeah. So Fury shut me up with his pet agent until I figured out how to save my own life and then he told me I wasn't good enough for some secret team he was building. Not that I wanted in. I've never been much of a team player." 

Steve was aware of the buildings passing on either side of the car. He wasn't sure how long they had until they reached their destination, how long they could freely talk before they were in a place where they might be overheard by more than Stark's driver. Steve glanced at him again. He appeared to be paying them no attention but Steve didn't believe that for a second. 

"Is it safe to talk?" he asked. 

"Oh yeah. Happy's as loyal as they come. He won't talk, if only because he knows no one will pay him as well as I do." 

"Pepper pays me," Happy said. 

"With my money." Stark turned his attention back to Steve. "Feel free to tell me whatever deep, dark secrets you don't want Fury overhearing." 

"Fury has my best friend as a prisoner." 

"Not where I thought this was going. Your friend's got to be pretty old by now. Kidnapping of pensioners doesn't strike me as Fury's style." 

"Fury says he's been enhanced to help him live longer," Steve said. And he laid the whole thing out for Stark, explaining about the mission Fury had assigned him to interrogate a captured assassin, the lack of information, and his discovery that it was really Bucky held in that cell. Stark's eyes got wide when Steve talked about the mind-wiping and the fact that Bucky had no idea who he was, the fact that he'd been treated like a machine. 

"But Fury knows," Steve said. "All these restrictions, hiding the photos from me, not letting me see him face-to-face, he knows exactly who Bucky is and doesn't want me to know." 

"So why come to me?" 

"I need to get Bucky out of there. Whatever he's done, he was made to do it and he has no memories of who he really is. He should be getting medical treatment not shut in a box that's basically a slow torture device." 

"Do you plan on telling Fury that?" 

"I did. I didn't let on that I know who Bucky is, but I said I thought he should be getting medical treatment. He says it's too dangerous." 

Stark didn't answer right away. When he did, his response made Steve want to punch him. "Is he right?" 

"Bucky's a victim here. He deserves help." 

"I'm not hearing a no," Stark said. Only the fact that Steve desperately needed someone to help him kept him from violence. 

"They didn't even give him a blanket," Steve said. "He's been given two meals a day of water and some disgusting looking nutrient paste and nothing else. No exercise. No daylight. No entertainment. No human contact. They just shut him in a box and left him. It's not right for anyone and he's never going to remember anything if he's never given anything to jog his memory." 

"And so, what? You're going to bust him out like a one-man army and take your buddy on the run from Shield's finest?" 

"If that's what I have to do." 

Stark appeared to be thinking Steve's words over but this wasn't going the way Steve might have hoped. He might be on his own here after all only now Stark might go straight to Fury and tell him what Steve had planned. 

"Let's talk options," Stark said. "Option one, you trust that Fury knows what he's doing. You keep working with Captain Amnesia to try and help him remember who he is." 

"I'm not leaving him in there." 

"Option two, you break him out of a high-security facility, hope he doesn't go on a pre-programmed murdering rampage the moment he gets out, and have to go on the run with Fury's finest hunting you down and have to sleep with one eye open in case your war buddy goes all murderbot on you." 

Steve knew that what he was thinking was dangerous, which was why he was asking for help, but he couldn't help thinking about what Fury had said about the possibility of Bucky going back to the people who had brainwashed him the moment he got free of the cell. Steve might get him free only to lose him again. 

"You need a third option," Stark said. 

"Right now I'm a little short of one." 

"What do you both want? Fury wants to make sure your murder boyfriend is secure somewhere he can't kill innocent people and his handlers can't get to him." 

"He's not my boyfriend!" Steve felt a surge of anger that Stark could say something like that, mocking Bucky in that way by implying... The feeling was made all the worse by the fact that Steve might have wanted Bucky that way once. The knowledge was a shameful secret he'd kept buried for years and he had no intention of letting Stark drag it out into the daylight when there were more important things to worry about. 

Stark waved a hand dismissively. "You want him somewhere safe where you can whisper sweet nothings about times gone by to help jog his memory and give him all the comforts you think he deserves." 

Steve glared but nodded. That was basically what he wanted. He wanted to give Bucky a safe space to recover, wanted to help reintroduce him to himself, give him a chance to learn about who he had been before whoever had done this to him had stripped him of his identity. But even if Bucky never recovered completely, Steve wanted to make sure he could be comfortable, that he wasn't shut in a situation that was basically torture by another name. 

"So you need a compromise. You need a place that's secure enough for Fury to be satisfied but where you can give Bucky all the comforts of home." 

Steve nodded again. "Unfortunately, I don't have anywhere like that." 

"Isn’t that why you came to me? Right now, I have a building and no one's moved in yet. We built that with room to expand so there are whole floors that haven't been allocated. I could set one aside for your buddy, maybe the floors above and below it to, just for a buffer zone. I would need to beef up the security a bit, but it's already fitted with cameras, motion detectors, and the best artificial intelligence not on the market. Give me a day or two and I'm sure I could build something at least as secure as wherever Fury has him stashed and I can make sure he has Netflix and cable on tap and whatever else you think he needs." 

"It would be better than where he is at the moment." Anything would be better than where he was at the moment. "But are you sure you want to do this?" 

Tony shrugs. "Pepper complains when I spend all my time tinkering with my suits. This would at least give me something new to tinker with, and sticking it to Fury would be fun." 

In some ways, Tony was very like Howard, wanting to do something just for the challenge of doing it. 

"The question is how we get Bucky over to your building." 

"We're not going to be able to do it without Fury knowing," Stark said, "so it would be better to get his agreement." 

"You want me to ask Fury's permission?" 

"You could, but I was expecting you to march up to him and announce that you're doing this with or without him. Seems like that would be more your style." 

"And what do you know about my style?" 

"My dad talked about you _a lot_. Like, wouldn't shut up about you. Seemed to think the sun shone out of your ridiculously well-defined ass. And one of the things he talked about was how you would never let anyone tell you what to do if you didn't think it was right. So, yeah, go to Fury and tell him that you're moving Bucky and give him the chance to weigh in on my security set up and whatever, or let him know that if he works against you, it will make this whole thing about a thousand times more risky but you're doing it anyway." 

Stark had a point. Fury wouldn't want to fight Steve any more than Steve wanted to go up against all of Shield. If he could convince Fury that this was a good compromise, then it would be the best for everyone. And if Fury tried to argue, Steve would punch him so hard his eyepatch came out the back of his head.


	10. Chapter 10

They skipped dinner and Steve had Tony drop him off at New York's Shield facility. Thankfully, Fury was working late. Either that or he'd been expecting Steve to show up. 

Steve had a plan, sort of, and he wasn't going to start this meeting by kicking Fury out a window, however tempting that might be. He waited until Fury's assistant told him it was alright to go in, and then he strode into Fury's office. 

"Cap. I wasn't expecting you so late. Is something wrong?" 

Steve felt his resolve not to punch Fury straight off the bat crumbling. 

"How about everything regarding Bucky's situation?" There was no point pretending anymore that he didn't know exactly who Bucky was. 

"Ah," Fury said. "When did you figure it out?" 

"Earlier today. How long did you think you were going to be able to keep this from me?" 

"A little longer, at least until he started regaining memories of you. I take it your meeting with Stark was in relation to this?" 

At least Fury didn't insult his intelligence by pretending he wasn't spying on him well enough to know his every movement. 

"Stark has agreed that Bucky can be moved to his new building." 

"I understand your desire to help your friend, but right now Sergeant Barnes is a threat to himself and others. He needs to be kept in a secure environment." 

"And Stark is willing to add in new secure measures in his tower, but Bucky is not staying in that concrete box longer than he needs to. He is going to be moved somewhere he can get basic human needs met, like cleanliness and proper food. He's going to be allowed exercise and he's going to be given information and entertainment so that he can get enough mental stimulation that maybe something sparks a memory." 

Fury seemed almost amused. "Are you trying to give me orders, Cap?" 

"I'm giving you an ultimatum. You can help me move Bucky safely, or you can try to stop me and who knows if I'll be able to keep Bucky from getting free while I'm also fighting your agents, but there is no way in hell I'm leaving him in your care." 

"This isn't your call to make, Cap. You're too close to this." 

"I knew your treatment of him was cruel even before I knew it was Bucky. I would have argued for moving him to somewhere with medical care as soon as I found out that they'd been wiping his memories. The fact that he's my friend does not change the fact that I'm right." 

"I can't authorise a transfer from Shield's facility to Stark's," Fury said. 

"You'd better," Steve started, but Fury cut him off. 

"I mean I literally do not have the authorisation to make this decision. Whether under the influence of brain-washing or not, your friend killed a lot of important people, and a lot of other important people have some very strong feelings about that. And very deep pockets. There were people advocating for the death penalty even after we found out that he was really a war hero. Secretary Pierce was able to negotiate a compromise where he was securely contained and we could demonstrate that he was safe, and that everyone else was safe from him, but I can't just change the arrangement without some evidence that I and Pierce can present to the involved parties." 

Steve had the uncomfortable feeling that he was being manipulated. Fury had expected him to figure out who Bucky was. Maybe not this fast, but he'd anticipated it and he'd anticipated that Steve would be instantly determined to get Bucky out of there. He just wanted evidence. Did Fury actually want Bucky moved somewhere better? Or was he just playing games, trying to make sure that someone else had the final say so that any decisions couldn't ultimately be blamed on him? 

Steve wondered if he ought to be talking to Secretary Pierce. He'd met the guy once and he'd seemed decent for a politician, the sort of guy that had got into politics because he genuinely believed he could make the world a better place, even if it meant dealing with all the usual sleaze that politics entailed. If Pierce had advocated for Bucky's fair treatment once, perhaps he could be persuaded to again, but those sort of negotiations took time. Bucky had already been in that cell far too long. 

"Let this be your evidence," Steve said. "Stark will make somewhere secure, somewhere that he can be watched better than he is at the moment, with security cameras that actually show his face. We can limit access to me and anyone who gets authorised by these 'involved parties' so he can't hurt anyone else. We can expose him to information from his past and see if he shows a reaction. You don't demonstrate that he's not a threat if you don't give him any opportunity to." 

"This will have to be approved by others," Fury replied. Which wasn't quite a no. 

"I'm getting him out of there, Nick. If I have to fight half the world to do it, I will, but I'm not leaving him in that cell. If you want to keep any control over the situation, if you want to make sure he stays contained, you will do this my way." Steve didn't let himself show any doubt. He had flown into Nazi territory to rescue Bucky without hesitation. He wouldn't hesitate about fighting the American government either, flag on his uniform or not. 

"I'll inform Pierce," Fury said. "We'll see what we can do." 

"Do it quickly. As soon as Stark has his secure facility ready, I'm moving him." 

Steve walked out before Fury could argue. 

His hands were shaking as he made his way out of the building. He wasn't sure if it was from anger, from fear, or from the fact he hadn't eaten dinner and his enhanced metabolism was complaining. It was possible he'd just made a huge mistake. Fury might tell Pierce and these involved parties what Steve had threatened to do, and Steve might find himself arrested in the night or might show up at the Shield facility tomorrow to find Bucky gone. A part of him wondered if he should have stuck with secrecy until Stark was ready and then moved him, but that would have had its own risks. 

He had to hope that he'd been right about Fury setting all this up. They hadn't known each other long, but Steve laying down an ultimatum about Bucky's future clearly hadn't been anything resembling a surprise. Fury hadn't been willing to move Bucky on his own, hadn't been given the authorisation to improve Bucky's conditions, but he'd put Steve in the perfect position to force his hand. Only now, he could shift all the blame onto Steve if things went horribly wrong. 

Maybe he was being a bit harsh on Fury. Maybe he really did have Bucky's best interests in mind and this was the best way he'd been able to think of to arrange it, but it would be easier to believe that if Fury had been remotely honest with him. Fury could have explained to him right from the start who Bucky was and talked to him like a rational human being. Instead, he'd hidden things, playing his own private game of hide the lady with so many cards Steve wasn't even sure how many decks were in play. It was possible that Fury was trying to help but the likely was just as high that Fury wanted to give the impression that he'd been trying to help simply because he'd been caught out. 

He would see if Fury would live up to his word. Steve would keep working with Stark and carry on as if moving Bucky was inevitable, because sometimes just acting like a thing could happen with enough confidence was enough to make it happen. Steve had walked into an enemy base, freed prisoners, and started giving orders as though he expected to be obeyed and people had just taken for granted that he had the right. The captain's bars on his uniform hadn't become official until after he'd announced that he was Captain America to a cell full of soldiers and didn't wait for objections. He could do the same here. He could give orders about moving Bucky and hope he sounded confident enough for people to go along with him. 

Getting them all to agree with him about moving Bucky would definitely make things easier. He didn't want to have to fight the government. It would certainly be safer for Bucky if he could get Shield to agree to the transfer, but if the people Fury answered to said no, then Steve would continue to argue with him and anyone else who refused him, and keep planning with Stark as if all was going ahead. If someone took steps to prevent him, he would fight them with all the strength he had. 

This resolution didn't make it any easier to sleep that night. He kept thinking about Bucky, about the way he'd declared that he was dead and that no one could hurt him if he was dead. He couldn't help imagining how much pain they must have put Bucky through for him to treat the idea of his death like a comfort. He thought of mind wipes, of how Bucky had had his memories stripped away until he didn't know Steve, didn't remember anything they'd been through together, didn't even dream. 

Steve's heart ached with grief at this knowledge. Every time he started to drift off to sleep, some new realisation of horror would creep into his mind, stirring him to anger and sorrow, until sleep seemed miles away again. 

He needed less sleep now than before the serum, but even he needed some, and that was a long time coming. When his alarm went off, he'd been lying awake after his last fitful doze. With a groan, he switched off his alarm and got up, hoping a shower would help him feel more awake. It didn't. He would have to drink coffee basically constantly for the caffeine to have a noticeable effect given his metabolism, but he made himself a mug anyway before heading out the door and travelling to the Shield facility. 

He wasn't sure how much to tell Bucky about their plans, wanting to give him hope but also not knowing how long the changes Stark was making might take. He didn't want to get Bucky's hopes up if it would take Stark a long time to secure his building. Or, a cynical part of him thought, if Stark was as easily distracted as his father had been and forgot about this project if he didn't get it finished in a couple of days. He wanted to tell him something though, to let him know that someone was out here fighting for him, and that he would get something better soon. Whether it was with Stark's help or not. 

He was still mulling this problem over as he approached the Shield facility. He swiped himself in through the front door but didn't even make it to the security desk when a voice called out, "Captain Rogers." 

He turned. An older man was walking across the shiny lobby towards him, hand already outstretched to shake. 

"I know you must be anxious to get down there," the man said, "but I hoped I might talk to you about your friend first. Fury filled me in last night." 

The expression on his face was one of pity and commiseration, a sad sorrow in his eyes as he met Steve's gaze. This wasn't the face of someone here to give him good news about Bucky's release, but Steve knew he would be a fool to brush him off. This man was an ally he couldn't afford to alienate if he wanted to get Bucky out with official agreement. 

So he gave a polite smile and said, "Of course, sir," and let Alexander Pierce lead him into a meeting room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No matter how loudly you scream warnings at your screen, Steve won't be able to hear you. :) 
> 
> On another note, I've had my [YouTube channel](https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCTNkMHdRuYyUmucnVydGpvQ?view_as=subscriber) for a couple of months now, and I was wondering about doing a "Your questions answered" video for the three month anniversary. I would answer people's questions about my original writing, my fanfics, writing advice in general, whatever people are interested in. If I did a video like that, would people want to watch it? Would you have questions? 
> 
> If you do have questions, please ask them in a comment and if I get enough of them and enough people saying they'd be interested in the video, I'll do it.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am really looking forward to the comments on this chapter. :)

Pierce led Steve to a meeting room off the lobby, closing the door firmly behind them. He didn't sit and Steve was glad of that because he was too full of anxious energy to be comfortable sitting still and he doubted Pierce would appreciate him fidgeting. 

"Captain Rogers," Pierce said, "Steve, I'm sorry. I didn't know that Fury had arranged all this. I would never have authorised your involvement like this, at least not without a detailed explanation of everything we've learned, a warning, of what you should expect." 

"I appreciate that," Steve said, and he did. One of the biggest things he was angry at Fury about was the deception. Fury should have just been up front with him, not playing mind games and manipulating everything. 

"I know this isn't what you want to hear, but you should prepare yourself for the possibility that you're never getting your friend back." When Steve braced himself to spew angry and determined words about not leaving Bucky to fester in there, Pierce hurried on to cut him off, "I don't mean about getting him out of the isolation cell, I mean mentally. We had some of the best doctors in the world look at his brain scans, at the damage that was done, and the likelihood is that he will never recover his memories, never be able to relearn normal social interactions. Whole parts of his brain were fried will electricity, stripping away abilities like empathy. I'm not a neuroscientist, but you need to know that we did bring in some of the best in the world and they didn't hold out much hope for his recovery." 

Pierce's face was so full of sympathy, but Steve wasn't going to give up hope if there was even the faintest shred. Besides, he'd talked to Bucky over the last few days. 

"He's still in there," Steve said. "When I asked him to pick a name, he chose James." 

"I take it Fury didn't tell you about his session with Barnes?" Pierce said. "When we worked out Barnes' identity, Fury went in himself, with Barnes' file, with footage from your time in the war. Fury explained who he was, showed him this information, tried to spark a memory, but there was nothing. Fury told him that his name used to be James Barnes. He's not remembering from his time before his capture, he's just remembering bits of information he was given after his rescue." 

Steve didn't think it much of a rescue when Bucky was still imprisoned the way he was, but he let that part slide for now and focused on the rest. Like the fact that Fury was still concealing things from him. Of course Fury hadn't filled him in about his interactions with Bucky. Steve really should have punched that guy. 

"Bucky said he was remembering things. He remembered Howard's flying car." 

Pierce shook his head. "Most likely, Fury told him about that car too. It's public knowledge and I know that Fury used a lot of the files and information we could gather about Barnes' past to try to get through to him. I'm not trying to be cruel here, I just want you to know what you're letting yourself in for. Even if you get him somewhere away from here, he's not going to magically snap back to being who he was before. There's a very strong chance he will try to kill you. If you really want to go through with this, with moving him, then you have to be prepared for the potential consequences." 

"I am." 

"You will have to keep your guard up around him at all times. I'm sure Fury has told you about the number of good, highly-trained agents he's managed to injure or kill in his attempts to escape. Whatever he may have been to you in the past, right now he is a threat to you as much as to anyone else." 

"I understand that," Steve said, even though he didn't really believe it. Expressing anything other than complete agreement with Pierce would spell disaster though, so he didn't attempt to argue in Bucky's defence. Not on that point anyway. But he knew that Bucky had remembered a moment from before he'd been captured. He'd mentioned a blond boy eating chocolate and Steve knew that had to be a memory of him, and the way he'd insisted on sharing juice was some remnant of how things had been when they were little and they'd shared everything. Even the way Bucky had insisted that Bucky Barnes would never have punched him when Steve had told the story of his birthday, that was a sign that he remembered traces of his past. 

But what he knew wasn't going to convince other people and he would pick his battles. If he could get Bucky somewhere better, then he could worry about proving what he already knew in his heart. 

Pierce was still talking. "And you will be the one held accountable if he gets out and hurts someone. There will be plenty of blame to go around, of course, and we will all have to answer for this decision, but a lot of people will be pointing fingers directly at you." 

"I understand that too, but Bucky is a victim as much as anyone else. I'm not saying let him out onto the street, but he should get some basic, human comforts at least. He should be treated with compassion and dignity." 

Pierce nodded. "I agree, but compassion and dignity mustn't come at the expense of security. I saw the aftermath of what happened the last time we tried to treat him more like Bucky Barnes and less like the Winter Soldier. I don't want to have to call someone's wife or mother again and have to explain what happened to their loved ones. The fact that he's a victim too won't give those people any comfort." 

"We'll keep him secure," Steve said. "I'll keep him secure." 

"You're working with Stark on the security?" 

Steve nodded. 

"I will need you to get Stark to send me detailed schematics of all of the security measures he is putting in place so that I can have them verified by an independent expert. I know he's probably still upset over what happened with Hammer Tech and the Iron Patriot suit," Steve wasn't sure what Pierce was talking about, so he just nodded again, "but I will personally guarantee that the only people who see his designs will be a small, hand-picked group of Shield scientists and engineers. No one from any of his competitors will get anywhere near it." 

"I'm sure Stark will appreciate that reassurance." 

"I'm sure he'll be thoroughly offended that we want to check his work, but Stark has a tendency to over confidence in his own genius, and he dismisses the possibility that anyone might match him. We can't take that chance, so the only way this will be authorised is if someone independent of Stark Industries confirms the security measures." 

"I'll see that he agrees." 

"Good. And see if you can get him to give me a summary that's in simple enough terms that not only I can understand it, but that I can use to explain the security measures to a room full of senators and congressman, half of whom are older than I am and who have less experience with computers than you." 

Pierce gave a wry smile at that, like they were sharing a joke, but Steve suspected that the request was a serious one. Fury had indicated that a lot of people wanted a say in what happened to Bucky. Pierce would need evidence to get them on their side. Steve suspected that this evidence was also necessary to get Pierce fully on board, no matter how much he was talking like he was in agreement with Steve's plan already. Pierce was a politician, and Steve couldn't forget that just because Pierce was being friendly now. 

"I'll make sure you get it," Steve said. 

"There is no such thing as overkill here," Pierce said. "Stark has never been known for restraint, but that can work in our favour this time. He should throw everything and the kitchen sink into security to get the buy-in for this, and I want Shield security involved as well. My recommendation would be Brock Rumlow to lead the team. He's a Strike team specialist, highly trained in combat. Even without enhancements, he's good enough that he should be able to slow the Winter Soldier down if things go badly. I can get his file for you to review. I'm sure Fury will want Barton or Romanov to take point on this, but Barton is currently assigned to the security detail on another Shield facility and Romanov is undercover on an intelligence-gathering operation, so there's no knowing how long it will be before she's back. Rumlow I can get here within two hours if I give the word." 

"Speed would be appreciated," Steve said, and it really was. He wanted to talk to whatever Shield security specialist was assigned about moving Bucky right now, so that they didn't have to wait a moment longer than necessary. He didn't want to have to wait for an agent to finish up a mission, and he would rather trust Pierce than Fury right now. Pierce was at least being honest with him. 

"I'll get you his file," Pierce said. "You get me the information from Stark and I'll start sweet-talking the defence committee about moving Barnes." 

"Thank you," Steve said. He held out his hand to Pierce to shake, more grateful than he could express that someone in a position of authority was taking his side on this one. He didn't expect it to be easy to get Bucky out of the cell, even now, but it was starting to feel a bit more of a possibility, like he might actually get Bucky somewhere safe without angering the entire American government while he was at it. 

"Barnes was a war hero," Pierce said, shaking Steve's hand firmly. "Whatever may have happened to him after, it doesn't change the fact that he risked his life for the sake of this country. Fury may have forgotten that, but I haven't. Just remember what I said; the people who messed with his head really did a number on him. You need to brace yourself for the possibility that you're not going to get your friend back the way you remember him." 

Steve was almost glad for Pierce's dismal words, even if he had no intention of believing them. The fact that Pierce was speaking discouragingly was a good sign that he was being honest, and after dealing with Fury for the past couple of weeks, a bit of honesty was refreshing. Steve was therefore encouraged as he said his goodbyes to Pierce. He was glad to have someone like Pierce fighting his corner given how complicated this situation was becoming. 

He stayed in the meeting room so that he could have a semblance of privacy for his phone call to Stark, though even if Fury didn't have people monitoring his calls, the room in a Shield facility was certain to be observed. It hadn't taken Steve long in this world to know that Shield liked to watch everything. Still, he felt better not having someone standing next to him. 

"Hey, Capsicle," Stark said. "You getting your bromance buddy ready to move? Gotta admit, I've still got a few nuts and bolts to polish before the guest suite is ready. It's missing a few essentials. Like, furniture, and a shower head... and most of the floor." 

"Why would it be missing the floor?" 

"Because I came up with a brilliant way to control your pal's movements without resorting to anything as prosaic as chaining him to the wall. It gives him freedom when he's calm and docile and can kick in to stop any violence or escape attempts if we need it to. Come by the Tower in a couple of hours and I'll show..." Stark cut himself off, saying sharply, "No! Dum-E, that doesn't go there! Damn it." A moment later he said, "Better make that five hours." 

Something fizzed and crackled at the other end of the phone line. Steve suspected that Stark had inherited Howard's tendency towards explosions. 

"It might be a little later than that," Steve said. "I need to see Bucky, but after that I'll come see. In the meantime, I need you to put together documentation about all your security measures for Secretary Pierce. He wants detailed schematics of everything you're doing to secure your Tower." 

"What? Nope. No way. Out of the question." 

"He promised it wouldn't get into the hands of your competitors." 

"It's not about that. Sharing the details of your security is basically the antithesis of security. It's like handing someone a map to your fortress so that they can figure out a way in. Back in the war, when you were breaking into Nazi strongholds, wouldn't a detailed layout of all the locked doors, the guard patrols, the trip wires, and whatever else they had, I never really paid attention in history, wouldn't that have helped you get in?" 

"I see your point," Steve said, and he did, because information was always useful for coming up with a plan of attack, "but I thought your security was supposed to be unbreakable?" 

"I didn't say unbreakable. I mean, it will be tough for anyone to figure out a way to break it, but the last time anyone tried to claim a security measure was unbreakable was the Enigma code and we all know how that turned out." 

He said it dismissively, like it was common knowledge, but all Steve knew of the Enigma code was that it was the code the Germans had used to encrypt their military communications and that it was supposed to be uncrackable because it changed each letter into any other letter, seemingly at random. 

"Someone broke the Enigma code?" Steve asked. He'd known that there were code breakers at work during the war, but the knowledge that the Germans' greatest code had been broken was a revelation. 

"I guess we don't all know," Stark answered. "Yeah, they broke the code. It was a whole big thing, kick-started the modern computer age. I'll fly you to England to tour the Bletchley Park museum sometime when you're not babysitting brainwashed assassins." 

The name Bletchley Park caught Steve off guard because he'd seen that name in Peggy's record. She'd been assigned there before she'd joined the SSR as a field agent. Had she been involved in breaking that code? Had she participated in something so incredible, and not been able to tell him because of the secrecy of her work? It stung that he didn't know the answer. But there would be other times to deal with his bruised feelings, and Stark was still talking. 

"My point," he said, "is that given enough time, there's always a chance someone will be able to figure out a way through any security measure. The more information you give them about the security measure, the less time they will need. The mathematicians at Bletchley were able to break the code because they got their hands on some of the Enigma machines. If I just hand over my schematics, it's like I'm inviting them to break it." 

"Pierce won't be publishing the schematics to the world," Steve pointed out. "He's going to show them to a small group of people he trusts who can verify that the systems really are secure." 

"And how do I know that their systems are secure enough to keep my secrets secure? A chain's only as strong as its weakest link. I hand this information over to someone like Pierce, he could decide to email it to his trusted group of people over an unsecured Gmail. No way. It's not going to happen." 

Steve was getting frustrated, largely because he could understand where Stark was coming from. He was making valid points, but Steve knew that Pierce wasn't going to be able to help Steve help Bucky unless he got this information. 

"You're supposed to be the genius. Figure out some way to share the schematics with Pierce while keeping them secure." 

"Ugh. Fine. I'll figure something out. Not that it will do much good because it's not like Pierce will be able to understand anything I give him." 

"About that, he also wants a summary in basic English he can use to explain to politicians what security measure you've put in place." 

"I'm not sure anyone could dumb it down that much. Some of these guys think that the internet flows through tubes and that floods are caused by gay people." 

"Just make it all sound ridiculously impressive and thoroughly secure." 

"That I can manage." 

"Stark, thanks again for this." 

"Eh, I needed a project. So are you coming to see?" 

"Later. I need to see Bucky now." 

By the time he got off the phone with Stark, he saw that an email had already arrived from Pierce with Rumlow's file attached. Steve took a few minutes to look through it. Most of the mission details were redacted, but there was a long list of combat training certificates and specialisms. The guy seemed to know every weapon under the sun, but Steve was more interested in the certifications he had in methods of capture and restraint. There were recommendations from commanding officers about discipline and thoroughness. It was hard to tell much about a guy from a piece of paper, but there could be little doubt that his record shone with competence. That would be useful for reassuring all the people who needed to be reassured, and if he was as good at following orders as this file suggested, then hopefully he would follow Steve's orders about not hurting Bucky. 

At least if he was Pierce's hand-picked candidate and not Fury's, there was a better chance that he wouldn't be secretly taking orders from Fury behind Steve's back. 

He tapped out a reply to the email, telling Pierce to bring Rumlow in to meet him, and then he was ready to go in to see Bucky. 

He knew he was running a little late, thanks to the meeting with Pierce and the call with Stark, but he hadn't really thought about what that might mean until the agent on duty today looked up at him and said, "He's been asking for you."


	12. Chapter 12

The asset had no clock or any equivalent way of measuring time, but he could track his own personal sense of time against how tired he was, when he woke, how hungry or thirsty he felt, and whether he needed to relieve himself. Using these internal points of reference, he had built up a set of expectations around when things would happen. He could predict the arrival of his meals. In a few short days, he had built up such expectations regarding Steve. He sat there on one folded blanket, the other wrapped around him, and waited for Steve to speak. At first, when no words came, he simply assumed that his internal sense of time was off by a few minutes, or that Steve was not completely regular in his movements. 

But when a few minutes became a few more, he began to worry that something might have happened. Steve didn't have anyone to watch his back. He didn't have an asset. What if someone had hurt him? The asset could be left in here and never know what had happened. 

Or what if Steve decided not to come and talk to him anymore? Somehow that possibility was worse. The asset knew that Steve liked Bucky Barnes, was best friends with Bucky Barnes. He'd been told this by the interrogator with the eyepatch and it had shone through in Steve's stories. What if Steve decided he didn't want to have anything to do with the asset if he wasn't going to be Bucky Barnes? 

Should the asset have pretended? 

He had pretended to be human before, walking out in public on missions, able to sidle up to a target on the street without attracting attention. He could pretend to be human again if that was what would make Steve happy, if that was what would keep Steve talking to him. He could stop requesting wipes and maintenance because that upset Steve. He knew that Bucky Barnes was dead, but he was good at lying when the situation called for it. He could lie to Steve if that was what would make him happy. 

Making Steve happy was important. Keeping Steve coming back and talking to him was important. 

"Steve?" he asked, tentatively, trying to show emotion. Emotion was not acceptable for an asset, but it was necessary if he was to pretend. There was no one here who could punish him for pretending and no punishment could be worse than the absence of Steve. 

There was no answer. No sound through the speakers. No sign of Steve's return. 

He counted the silent seconds until five minutes had passed and then he tried again. 

"Steve?" 

Still no response. 

He considered apologising, in case he had done something wrong, but the asset had learned the apologies led to further punishment more frequently than they led to lessening of punishments. 

He considered talking to the others who might be watching the security feed. He knew that there must be others monitoring him because Steve had insisted that he hide his face from them, but they had never spoken to him. They were unlikely to speak to him now, but it was worth an attempt. 

"Where is Steve?" 

Seconds ticked into minutes without an answer. The asset wasn't sure what he would do if Steve never came back. The answer to that was obvious: there was nothing he could do. He had no more power over his situation with or without Steve, but there was a great sense of helplessness with him gone that was worse than the empty boredom that had plagued his changeless days before Steve began speaking to him. 

"Steve?" he tried again. 

"I'm here," Steve's voice came over the speakers, sounding slightly breathless, like he'd run for the microphone. The asset could have sobbed with relief. 

"Hi, Steve." 

"Hi, James. I'm sorry I'm late, but I've been having some very important conversations about you." 

"What conversations?" It was alright that he indulged in his curiosity because he was pretending to be human. 

"I've been making arrangements to get you moved to somewhere more comfortable, somewhere you can have more things to do, where I'll be able to keep you company more, and where you'll have better facilities." 

The asset was to be moved. That meant he would be taken out of this highly secure place. If the new place had more facilities, there was a strong chance it would be less secure, especially if Steve was expecting to visit him face-to-face. Regardless of the security of the destination, the move would inevitably mean the lowering of security. No matter how careful his captors were, he would be taken out of this impenetrable box and that would give him a chance to escape. He could follow protocol, finally. That was a good thing. That was his purpose, to follow orders, a purpose that had been stripped from him for far too long. 

Except... if he escaped, he might never get to hear Steve's voice again. If he ran away from Steve, or killed him in his efforts to follow protocol and return to his handlers, that would be a bad thing. There was no precise protocol attached to this awareness, but he knew it, like he knew the methods for maintaining weapons, the quickest ways to kill with limited mess. He knew that being apart from Steve was bad. The thought of not hearing Steve's voice hurt in a way that was unfamiliar and yet familiar. It wasn't the physical pain he knew so well but something else, an ache deep inside him. He didn't want to leave Steve. 

But he couldn't disobey. 

If he was given a chance to escape, he would have to take it. But he secretly hoped that Steve wouldn't give him that chance. 

"James, are you alright?" Steve asked. 

The asset wasn't sure what had caused the sound of concern in Steve's voice. He didn't like the sound. He wanted Steve to sound happy again. 

So the asset wiped away the unexpected wetness on his cheeks and said, "Tell me another story about you and Bucky." 

"Of course," Steve said. "Anything you want." 

***

Steve thought Bucky was crying. It was hard to be sure with the angle of the camera still as it was, but Bucky's shoulders shook slightly and then he brought a hand to his face before making the request for a story. He wasn't sure what would make Bucky cry, and whether they were tears of joy or sorrow. Was Bucky happy that Steve was going to move him somewhere else? Or was he upset? 

Steve couldn't imagine why Bucky would be upset over the possibility of moving to better accommodation, but it was hard to know what was going on inside Bucky's head. He wished he could go down into that cell and offer him some comfort, but that wasn't possible. At least not yet. He held on to the knowledge that he was working on this and he began to do what Bucky had asked him to do. He started telling stories. 

He told the story about finding a stray dog behind the apartment block and how they had tried to take it in before discovering that his asthma was made worse by animal fur, and how they'd begged and pleaded with the priest at St Margaret's until he agreed to take the dog and give him a good home, because they couldn't bear the thought of letting the animal out onto the streets again. 

He told the story about how Bucky had got his first job running deliveries for the grocer and how he had treated Steve to dinner at the automat with his first earnings. 

He told the story about the first girl Bucky had had a crush on, and how he had attempted to court her. Steve left out the uncomfortable knot of jealousy that had sat in the pit of Steve's stomach at the thought that Bucky might have more interest in that girl than him. Steve couldn't even remember her name now, but he tried to tell the story anyway, at least until the point where Bucky said, "No. Tell me about you and Bucky. Not her." 

"Alright then." And so Steve shifted to talking about double dates, and nights out dancing, and the summer evenings where they had strolled in the park because it had been too hot in the oven of the apartment they shared. 

He talked until his throat ached, pausing occasionally for water. It was hard to tell whether Bucky was even listening, but he seemed to tense when Steve was silent for too long as he refilled his water. Steve would talk until his throat bled if that made things better for Bucky. Solitary confinement for so long had to be harmful and a human voice was the least of what he needed. 

But Steve was also aware of Stark's offer to see what was being built. He needed to check on that, and check whether he had put together the information to send to Pierce. Steve couldn't ignore all those obligations because he knew that if he stopped putting pressure on Fury, the odds were that nothing would ever happen. So with reluctance, he said, "James, I have to go now. I have to meet some people about the arrangements for your new home. I'll be back tomorrow." 

"Goodbye, Steve." 

"Goodbye, James." It was still difficult not to call him Bucky, but he would save that discussion for when he could have it with Bucky face to face. 

Steve left the base and signalled the first cab he could find to take him to Stark Tower. It was time to see what Stark was putting together.


	13. Chapter 13

The doors of Stark Tower opened at Steve's approach, despite the echoing emptiness of the lobby. A pile of empty paint cans was stacked in an untidy heap near the elevators, but there was no sign of a living being. He walked inside slowly, a little unnerved by the quiet as the doors closed automatically, blocking out a surprising amount of the New York traffic noise. 

“Welcome, Captain Rogers.” The voice from nowhere made him jump. That AI was very disconcerting. 

“Um… Hello, Jarvis.” 

“I have informed Mr Stark of your arrival, and he invites you to come up to the seventy third floor.” 

The elevator door slid open. 

“Thank you.” Steve wasn’t sure if he needed to be polite to a computer, but it seemed better to be safe than sorry. 

“You’re welcome, Captain.” 

The elevator shot upwards at such a speed that Steve thought he’d left his stomach somewhere in the region of the second floor, but the doors were soon sliding open to reveal what was best described as an ante-chamber. There was a small square of space with the elevator doors behind him and a metal door in front of him. That metal door slid open to reveal the grinning face of Tony Stark. 

“Evening, Cap. Perfect timing. We just need to get your biometrics logged for the security system.” 

“My whats?” 

“Biometrics.” Stark waved his hand towards some computer panel… thing next to the door. “Starting with your hand print.” Steve placed his hand flat against the screen as Stark indicated and felt a warm buzz. “It’s measuring everything. Your fingerprints, the size of your hand, even whether there’s a pulse and an appropriate galvanic skin conductivity for a living person, so even if someone chops off your hand or kills you and drags your corpse to the door, it won’t open for them.” 

“That’s… reassuring.” 

“People have managed to do all sorts of sneaky things to fool fingerprint sensors so I’ve basically thrown in all the tricks to keep them out. Just make sure you don’t eat a bag of chips before coming here or the grease might lock you out. I’ve rigged it to err on the side of false negatives instead of positives.” 

“Meaning that it’s more likely to lock someone out incorrectly than let them in incorrectly?” 

“Precisely.” A panel above the hand scanner opened. “Now you need to put in a code. Make it at least ten digits long, because the longer the code the harder it is to brute force. And don’t pick all ones or something like that.” 

Steve thought for a minute and then entered in a code, committing it to memory. 

“Your code is linked to your handprint,” Stark continued, “so someone couldn’t get in by mimicking your handprint and using my code, for instance. And no one can even get to this floor unless they’ve passed Jarvis’s facial recognition.” 

“Are you documenting all this for Pierce?” 

“Yes, I’m going to tell your government buddy how the locks work.” There was a sarcastic note in Stark’s voice that Steve didn’t like, but Steve decided not to press him on that point. 

Stark ushered Steve through the door, only to bring them face to face with another one. The door behind closed with a metallic clang that made Steve jump. 

“The inner door can’t open if the outer door is open and vice versa,” Stark said. “Your boy will never get a straight shot at the outside world, and the doors are opened by electromagnets so if someone cuts power, the doors will automatically close and locking pins will drop into place to hold them shut. Not that that should happen. Once I bring the arc reactor online, which is scheduled to be in about a week but I can probably bring that sooner, the building will be running entirely on internal power, so even if someone takes out the entire New York grid, we should still have power to all of the security features, and I've put in secondary batteries on everything just for the sake of overkill. Now, to unlock the next door, we need a retinal scan.” 

He had Steve peer into another machine. This one shone a light at his eye. As he blinked away the brightness, the inner door slid open. Like the outer one, it was several inches of solid metal. Even with enhanced strength, breaking through that would be, if not impossible, at least incredibly difficult and time-consuming. 

“I’ve just finished putting the final touches on the floor,” Stark said, walking inside. Steve looked at the large panels beneath his feet. 

“Are they going to explode?” 

“What? No. Why would you think that?” Stark sounded offended. 

“Your father made a back massager that could snap a man’s spine. I’ve learned to be cautious around Stark inventions.” 

“The floor panels aren’t going to blow up. The worst they’ll do is deliver an extremely painful electric shock.” 

“You’re not as comforting as you seem to think you are.” 

“They’re meant to do that. It’s another security feature, like a taser for the feet. That’s a thought, we need to make sure no one gives your boy shoes with insulting soles. Basically, if he gets violent or tries to escape, the floor can jolt him with enough juice to make him lose control of his muscles.” 

“That seems cruel.” 

“Look, you wanted enough security to keep your government pals happy. This way, he can move about freely, but there’s an emergency system that will kick in if there’s trouble to keep him contained. It’s all nice and non-lethal. The ventilation system is also rigged up to pump in knock-out gas. It can fill the room in three seconds. It isn’t instantaneous, but it’s pretty quick. I put in a call to Shield and apparently some science duo have been working on creating fast-acting sedatives. It should work on even enhanced metabolism, even if it won’t keep him knocked out for long.” 

Steve following Stark into the room, treading cautiously on the panels but not feeling any electric shocks. 

“Two different camera systems,” Stark said, pointing. “One is linked to Jarvis and the main building security. The other is on an isolated circuit and accessed from a security office on the floor below this. This would be the main living area. It will look better when there's furniture.” 

He gestured around at a space larger than Steve’s current apartment. There was a TV set into the wall that was larger than some beds Steve had slept in, but what drew his eyes were the windows. They stood floor to ceiling, offering a view of skyscrapers and the water beyond. Steve wanted to gift Bucky this view, these windows that let daylight spill into the room, after all that time locked in a windowless box, but he had to be realistic. His heart was almost breaking as he told Stark, "Pierce will never approve these." 

"These can withstand the Hulk," Stark sounded offended again. "I threw my entire arsenal at them and didn't make a scratch. Your buddy is not going to be able to break them. Besides, if he tries... Jarvis, lower the blinds." 

A sheet of metal dropped from the ceiling, the force of it making the entire room reverberate with the impact. That had to be three inches thick at least. 

"If Robocop even attempts to break the windows, the blinds will lock and the security protocols will kick in." 

"Meaning the gas and the electric shocks?"

"Precisely. But so long as he's not actively trying to escape, he can get windows." 

Steve almost wanted to burst into tears of gratitude. Stark had considered both sides of this. He had understood the need to demonstrate security, but he also considered what Bucky might like. 

"Thank you, Stark." 

"That's nothing. This is the star feature." He gestured at the TV. "The best entertainment system available with surround sound and high definition. All the packages - films, sports, nature documentaries - all the streaming services. All voice activated. Jarvis, turn on Netflix." 

The giant screen lit up with a screen prompting them to choose a user profile: Iron Genius or Sleeper Assassin. 

"Change the name," Steve said, his gratitude evaporating in an instant. 

"Lighten up, Rogers. It's a joke." 

"He's had everything taken from him. Don't take his name too. He wants to be called James." 

Stark rolled his eyes. "Fine. Jarvis, update the profile name for Captain Killjoy." 

"At once, sir." 

"I did ask for entertainment," Steve said, "but I'm not sure about letting him rot his brain even further with constant television." 

"Ugh, you're such a grandpa. I've put in all the education packages as well, but this is just part of it." Stark continued his tour, taking Steve through the many rooms, explaining what each one would be for. There were even additional bedrooms in case Steve or one of the security team wanted to stay on site. Most of the rooms were currently unfurnished and some had some obvious features missing. 

"Yeah," Stark said, looking at the hole in the ceiling of one room, "I had to strip out all the fittings to make sure he didn't rip the shower out of the wall or smash the splash screen to make a weapon. I've also had to rewire for the security cameras, because normally bathrooms are the one place Jarvis can't look. I'll get everything put back in tomorrow." 

"How long until it's ready?" 

"Another couple of days. I had the contractors onsite for the Tower's final touches and people will work really hard if you offer them four times their normal rate to work overtime." 

Steve felt a rush of guilt that Stark was pouring so much money into this project, but he remembered the news articles about Stark paying off college debts on a whim. He probably wasn't too upset about the money he was spending, and there were other concerns here. 

"Do you trust the contractors?" Steve asked. 

"I've worked with them before and they've never shown any sign of being evil spies," Stark answered. "Besides, I'm handling all the security features myself. They're doing things like reinforcing the walls with metal plates. There's no point building fancy doors if he can just punch through a wall. But me and Jarvis are both checking that they're sticking to the blueprints I put together. They're not putting anything extra in or leaving anything vital out." 

"Good." It was like something had been released inside him to know that in a few days, Steve would be able to get Bucky out of that cell. He would do it, with or without the agreement of Fury and Pierce. As soon as this place had a bed and a shower, it would be better than where Bucky currently was. Right now, even with hard floors and no furniture, it was better than that cell because of the size and the windows. Steve would grab Bucky and bring him here right now if he could. 

"There's still one very important question we haven't talked about," Stark said. "How do you plan on getting him here?" 

Steve's stomach sank, because that was a question as important as the security features of this new cell. It didn't matter how good the security in Stark's fortress was if they couldn't get Bucky here safely. They would have to come up with a plan which would satisfy Fury and which would prevent any chance of Bucky running back to the people who had brainwashed him to assassinate people in the first place. Steve couldn't just put a pair of handcuffs on Bucky and hope for the best. 

"The knock-out gas you've fitted in this place, can you get more of it?" 

Before Stark could answer, Steve's phone rang. He didn't recognise the number on the display but there weren't many people who would have access to his phone number. He pressed the green button to answer it, with an apologetic look at Stark, who shrugged and grabbed a tool box before wandering away to do something in another room. 

"Rogers," Steve said. 

"Captain Rogers, sir. This is Agent Brock Rumlow. I was ordered to report to you but I'm unable to access the building."


	14. Chapter 14

Stark made Steve check the man on the security feed against the photos in the file Pierce had given him before he would let him in the building. Even then, he insisted on seeing the man's Shield identification and had Jarvis check Rumlow's features against the public records of the man he was claiming to be. Steve apologised for the delay once Stark agreed to letting the man into the secure floor. 

"It's no problem, sir," Rumlow said, still standing at parade rest. "Secretary Pierce explained about the nature of the prisoner so I understand the importance of checking who has access. Besides, you work for Shield long and you start developing a certain level of paranoia as a matter of course." 

"What has Pierce told you about the situation?" 

"The basics, sir. He told me that the prisoner was one of ours, a decorated war hero, but he was captured and brain-washed and turned into an enemy agent. He said my job was to keep the bad guys away and to keep the prisoner secure and make sure he doesn't hurt anyone while you attempt to break the brainwashing." 

"That's a fair summary," Steve said. He supposed it made sense that Pierce wouldn't have announced Bucky's true identity. 

Stark got Rumlow added to the security system so that he could get in and out, as head of the security team charged with guarding Bucky. Rumlow started talking about his team, and asking whether Steve wanted them stationed in the room with the prisoner or outside it. Steve didn't want Bucky to have to face armed guards every day. Besides, putting an armed guard in the same room as Bucky, if all the stories about Bucky's combat proficiency were true, would be basically the same as arming him. So Steve looked at the Tower's blueprints, as projected onto the ridiculous TV screen at Stark's instruction, and together they planned out a deployment pattern. Some would be immediately outside the doors, some would be in the security office on the floor below, monitoring the surveillance, some would be on the floor above. There would be more stationed on the ground floor and still more up near the roof, where Stark had built access for his Iron Man suit. It was unlikely, but someone might bring a helicopter in to hover there, so that had to be watched as a potential escape route. 

If Bucky did try to get out, he would have half an army to get through and Rumlow spoke with pride of his team's effectiveness. 

"We'll keep him contained, sir," he said. 

"Steve. Just Steve is fine." Steve hadn't liked being addressed as sir even when he'd been commanding a team in combat, but he saw the hesitation on Rumlow's face. "If calling me by my first name is too difficult for you, 'Cap' will work just as well." 

"If you insist, Cap," Rumlow said. 

Steve wasn't quite sure what he thought of the man, but there was no doubt he was conscientious. He considered all the options and he listened carefully as Stark explained the security setup. He seemed intelligent enough and that was worth something, but he also seemed to accept without question that the whole was to avoid hurting Bucky if at all possible. All of Stark's security measures were so that they would hopefully never be in a position where Rumlow's team would have to fight Bucky, but if the worst came to it, they were to use nonlethal weapons to capture Bucky and get him back into containment. 

Once they had discussed the situation in the Tower, they got on to the subject Rumlow had interrupted earlier: how to move Bucky. They had to cover how to keep Bucky contained, how to handle the logistics of the transport, as well as how to make sure that any enemies who had spies in Shield or watching Pierce wouldn't have enough information to recapture him. After spending the better part of an hour laying out ideas, debating options, and considering contingencies, Rumlow announced that he had enough. 

"I can handle the details, Cap. I know my team and I can requisition the necessary equipment from Shield. I can arrange the logistics." 

By this point, Steve was flagging. He hadn't slept well the night before and the day felt ridiculously long. He knew his sleepiness was a small matter in comparison to everything Bucky was going through, but he also knew that there was a chance he would make a mistake from tiredness. 

"You get some rest and keep engaging with the prisoner," Rumlow said. "I'll take care of this for you." 

"I want to see your plan for the move before anything happens." 

"Of course. I'll get it to you before noon tomorrow." 

"Thank you." The fact that Rumlow was talking short time frames was reassuring because it meant he understood what a priority this was for Steve. Everyone, from Pierce to Stark, understood the importance of doing this as quickly as possible. It was only Fury who had tried to stall. Steve wanted to push forward before Fury could find some way to slow things down. 

***

The next couple of days seemed to pass excruciatingly slowly for Steve. Everyone else was rushing around, frantically busy. Stark was finishing security features and organising furniture, as well as providing all the details Pierce needed. His contractors were making the walls, floor, and ceiling reinforced to the point where they'd be impervious to everything short of a nuclear bomb. In fact, Stark seemed to think that the walls would handle the bomb fine but the radiation might be a minor concern. Rumlow was busy organising the security team and making arrangements for transport. The only change Steve had made to Rumlow's very thorough plan was to insist that he was to be at Bucky's side through the whole process. Rumlow had yielded without argument, and Steve suspected that the only reason that hadn't been in the plan was that Rumlow hadn't felt he could issue deployment instructions to someone who was effectively his superior officer in this scenario. Even Pierce seemed busy, judging from the reports he emailed Steve of the various meetings. It seemed Pierce was pushing through this change by describing it to his government colleagues as though this were all intended to improve the security around Bucky. 

Everyone sent Steve regular updates on their progress, but there was very little they actually needed Steve to do. So Steve sat in the observation room in the Shield base, talking to a Bucky who seemed as still and uncaring as he'd ever been. He'd hoped that Bucky would have been pleased when he told him about getting a window, but there was no response. Bucky didn't seem interested in asking questions about his new home. Steve warned Bucky that he would have to be rendered unconscious for the move to his new home, and Bucky had simply nodded his understanding. 

After managing to get to short conversations in a handful of days, it felt disheartening to be back to silence again. Perhaps that would improve when they could see each other face to face. Steve hoped that would improve. 

There was a part of him that was a little afraid, remembering all Fury's warnings. What if Bucky didn't recognise him in the slightest? What if Bucky tried to kill him? 

Whoever had captured him had managed to do so much damage to him, turn him into a killer far more merciless than Bucky could ever have had the capacity to be on his own. What would Steve do if Bucky used those skills against him? 

He already knew the answer to that question. That was what all the non-lethal weapons and security measures Stark was putting in place were for. If Bucky tried to fight him, Steve was supposed to render him unconscious with gas or electrocute him into submission. He just wasn't sure he was capable of doing either of those things. He supposed that was what Rumlow was there for, to make the calls Steve couldn't. If Bucky tried to fight him, Steve would do everything in his power to hold him off without hurting him and let Rumlow drug them both if that was what it took to avoid causing pain. Stark had reassured him that the knockout gas should be painless. 

Steve passed that reassurance on to Bucky, who didn't seem to care, and then got on with telling war stories while he waited for everyone else to get things ready. 

***

The asset was struggling to listen to Steve's stories today. It wasn't that the stories were less interesting than they had been on previous occasions, but the asset kept thinking of Steve's promise to move him somewhere new. Steve had told him he would be unconscious for the transfer, so the asset would be unable to attempt an escape, but there was still a possibility that his handlers might come for him. They might take him away from Steve. 

They might hurt Steve to get to him. 

If the asset was unconscious, he wouldn't be able to prevent them from hurting Steve. 

He didn't know exactly what his new cell would be like, but Steve had promised him a window. Windows could be broken. They could be a route for escape, or the glass could become a weapon to be used against his captors. If Steve gave the asset a window, he would have to use it to attempt to get free, to get back to his handlers. Those were his orders and there was no question about obeying them. If Steve allowed any weakness in the cell, the asset would have to exploit it and then he would have to leave Steve behind and return to his real handlers. 

The asset didn't want to leave Steve behind.

The asset considered his options, limited as they were, as Steve told a story about destroying a munitions factory. His orders were that he had to attempt an escape if he was given an opportunity, but if he was never given an opportunity, then he wouldn't be disobeying anything. He turned the idea over in his head. It felt like he was doing something he shouldn't, but technically he was following his protocols. He wasn't providing information. He wasn't answering an interrogator's questions. And saying a few words weren't a violation of his orders to escape. 

"Don't give me a window," the asset said, cutting Steve off in the middle of a bit of the story about jumping onto tanks. 

"What?" Steve asked, but the asset couldn't repeat himself. He was already shaking with irrational fear at the fact he'd spoken those words. Technically it wasn't a violation of protocol but he still felt everything they'd ingrained in him with years of training and pain screaming out in protest against those five words. 

"Why don't you want a window, James?" Steve asked. The asset couldn't answer that either. That would be providing information. More than that, it would be admitting out loud that he didn't want to follow one of his core protocols. That was unacceptable. So he remained silent, despite Steve prompting him again for an answer. 

At last, Steve said, "Alright, if that's what you want. It's your choice. We'll block off the window, but you can tell me if you change your mind. I just want you to be comfortable." 

That was such a strange concept. The asset couldn't recall the last time he'd been comfortable. The asset couldn't recall if he'd ever been comfortable. There were always injuries, fresh or healing, punishments, cold or heat, the stabbing pain to the head of wipes, the dull aching of muscles, the tight weight of body armour, and always, always, the tugging weight of his arm as a constant throb in his shoulder and upper back. Comfort wasn't a thing that belonged to something like the asset. 

But it was nice that Steve wanted to give it to him. 

That was why the asset didn't want a window. He wanted Steve to keep him secure forever.


	15. Chapter 15

Fury appeared in the observation room for moving day, along with a handful of his own staff to supplement the people Rumlow had organised. Steve glared at him, daring him to say something, to try to stop this. Fury was perfectly calm in the face of his anger. His simply said that he wished Steve had waited until Agent Romanov completed her current assignment. She was the closest they had to someone who knew how the Winter Soldier had been trained. 

"I'm not waiting," Steve said. "He's been in there long enough." 

Fury looked at Stark, who was also waiting in the increasingly crowded observation room. "You're certain everything is secure?" 

"Who do you think you're talking to?" 

"The man who implanted himself with a device that was poisoning him," Fury answered. 

"Everything's fine. Double and triple checked. Even your government buddy signed off on everything." 

"Pierce will sign off on things if it comes with a flashy enough PowerPoint presentation, that doesn’t mean he understands how it works." 

"It's secure. I through everything and the kitchen sink into making it escape proof, rescue proof, and everything else proof. Only me, Captain Spangles here, and the Grouch Patrol," he gestured at Rumlow, "have the ability to access the containment area. Even you and your pet spies wouldn't be able to get in." 

"When Romanov gets back, I might put that to the test." 

"Ah, but I know what she looks like now," Stark said. "I'm not going to be fooled a second time." 

"You know what she looked like the last time you saw her," Fury said. 

Steve was frustrated by this conversation, feeling like just another delay, another stalling tactic. He didn't have the authority to order Fury to leave, but he had been given the authority to speak to Bucky, so he went to the microphone and pressed the button. 

"Hello, James." 

"Hello, Steve," came Bucky's voice through the speaker. Around Steve, the other occupants of the room fell silent. 

"I told you we would be moving you to somewhere more comfortable. That's going to happen today. We're going to fill your cell with a gas that will render you unconscious. Please remain calm, the gas won't cause you any harm. Do you understand?" 

Bucky didn't answer, didn't seem to react much at all, but Steve was beginning to accept this as normal for him. Bucky didn't seem to like answering direct questions. 

"Are you sure it's a good idea to warn him about the gas?" Fury asked. "He could hold his breath." 

Steve had already considered this. 

"I googled the world-record for breath-holding," Steve said, "and the longest anyone's managed is twenty two minutes and twenty two seconds, and that was underwater which apparently helps and the man used oxygen beforehand to give himself an edge. If we fill the cell with the knockout gas for thirty minutes prior to going in to retrieve Bucky, that should be more than enough and we brought enough gas for that." 

He wanted Fury to know that they had planned this carefully, that they'd considered all manner of potential concerns. He wasn't putting Bucky at risk, but he also didn't want to just pump chemicals into the air without warning him what was about to happen. Without waiting for further argument from Fury, Steve signalled for Stark to start processing the gas through the cell's ventilation system. It would take a minute or so for the cell's air to be mixed with the knockout gas evenly, but Bucky was likely to be breathing some of it within seconds of the process starting. 

About half a minute after the process began, Bucky shifted to lie down. It was a deliberate move, probably so that he didn't fall and bash his head against the concrete walls or floor. He lay perfectly still and closed his eyes. It was possible that he was holding his breath and that remaining still was to give himself the best chance of avoiding breathing for a long time, by reducing his body's energy needs, but Steve didn't think so. Steve thought that he had resigned himself to the inevitable and just let himself fall asleep under the gas's effects. 

Waiting for the rest of the half hour to pass was frustrating. Steve kept looking at the countdown timer and wondering if it was broken somehow because the time seemed to be taking far too long to pass, but they had other preparations to make. They got the transport container ready, and all those in the observation room were given gas masks, because it was inevitable that some of the knock out gas would escape when they opened the cell up and went in for Bucky. 

Finally, the timer reached zero. Steve went to the hatch and had to wait while Fury peered into a retinal scanner and entered a code before the hatch would unlock. Steve wanted to just yank the hatch out of the floor, but there was no point in giving in to impatience when Fury was cooperating. At last, Steve was able to twist the hatch's release handle and lift the heavy thing open, revealing a round hole and Bucky's cell below. 

The floor was a long way below him, far enough that even an enhanced soldier wouldn't be able to jump up to reach the hatch without aid. Steve could probably have dropped down into the cell without risk of injury, but he lowered the rope ladder and climbed down a few feet before dropping the remaining distance. 

He crouched beside Bucky's motionless form, gently brushing the matt of tangled hair from his face. Some part of him hadn't really believed it until this moment, looking into Bucky's face, pale from the lack of sun. Steve gave himself a moment to just look, to remind himself that Bucky was still alive and that he was going to help him. They weren't going to be separated again. 

"We're ready, Cap," Rumlow called from above. 

Steve turned away from Bucky and saw the harness hanging down from a rope that dangled through the hatch. It took some manoeuvring to get Bucky's unresponsive form into a position so that he could get the harness secured around his body. Steve took care that every strap and buckle was secure so that he wouldn't get injured from his weight pulling too much on one part over another. He could almost feel everyone overhead getting concerned at the time this was taking, but Bucky showed no sign of waking. 

"Ready," Steve called, and Rumlow and the others started heaving on the rope, lifting Bucky from the ground and hauling him up towards the hatch. Steve waited below, ready to catch Bucky if something snapped, until Bucky was lifted clear through the hatch, and then he hurried up the rope ladder after him. 

By the time Steve climbed out of the cell, they others already had Bucky lying in the transport container, a rectangular box that looked uncomfortably like a coffin. A blond woman in nurse's scrubs was busy attaching an IV to Bucky's arm to keep pumping sedatives into his system for the entire journey. 

Steve watched carefully, anxious discomfort growing as virtual strangers strapped Bucky into the box, just in case the sedative wore off, and then sealed the lid on the box, just in case the straps weren't enough. Rumlow and his team stood nearby with weapons, just in case the box wasn't secure enough. There were so many layers of security and a part of Steve wished he had just gone with his first instinct and pulled Bucky from his place. He hated seeing him get restrained so securely. 

"Are you sure he'll be able to breathe OK in there?" Steve asked, watching Stark check the locking mechanism on the transport container. Now that the box was sealed the air in their room could be recirculated, the rest of them could remove their gas masks, the very fact that Steve could now breathe freely had him worried for Bucky. 

"This container has its own air filtration system," Stark said, "and we're monitoring his vitals." 

He touched a screen on the side of the box. Steve didn't know what most of the numbers meant, but he hoped that the fact they were all green meant something good. 

Once Bucky was as secure as he was going to get, it was time to move. The transport container was wheeled out and Steve stayed right beside it, where he could look through the glass circle on the front of it to see Bucky's sleeping face within. This would be over soon. He repeated that thought over and over to try and give himself some comfort. 

The security team, Stark, and Steve all moved with Bucky into a jet waiting into the base's transport hanger. There were other vehicles ready to go as well: a helicopter and two vans. Steve had wondered if it was too obvious that they would take the fastest mode of transport, but he supposed that might have been part of the bluff. Anyone trying to use this opportunity to get hold of Bucky would assume the fancy, Shield jet was too obvious and assume they'd take a different mode of transport. The precise details of the transport plan had only been known to a handful of them, but Pierce had been talking to a whole bunch of senators, congressmen and politicians so there could be no doubt that any serious spy organisation could have figured out that something was happening. If they were watching the Shield base, they would be waiting for just this opportunity. 

"All teams on comms," Steve ordered. He had an earpiece in so that he could be in contact with the security teams in the decoy vehicles and they would report in every few minutes. The earpiece was part of his new, Shield-issued outfit, and Steve would be having words with Fury about this when he was less focused on Bucky. The new outfit was brightly-coloured, more closely resembling his stage costume than the suit he and Howard had designed with combat in mind. Maybe this new outfit was made of fancy modern materials, but it didn't seem as protective as the one designed seven decades earlier. 

He dismissed his frustrations about his uniform and started paying attention to his surroundings instead. Stark took the controls of the jet, so Steve felt a little less anxious about watching to make sure they were going in the right direction, and instead he looked about for a sign of other aircraft, or of people with ground-to-air weapons perched on the roofs of the high buildings they were flying over. Steve had to wonder who had managed to get authorisation for this jet to fly so close to the skyscrapers, but he wasn't going to complain when, less than five minutes after take-off, Stark was bringing them round to a careful hover near the top of Stark Tower. 

The roof space gave enough room for Stark to land in his Iron Man gear, but not nearly enough for the jet, so the best he could do was hold the jet in a hover and let the exit ramp open onto the building. There was a terrifying drop from either side of the ramp and Steve tried not to think about the possibility of losing Bucky to another fall so soon after getting him back, but they pushed the box down the ramp and onto the slightly less precarious Tower roof without incident and Steve tried to remember now to breathe again. 

Stark had to go park the jet, but Steve knew the way to Bucky's cell by now, and Jarvis allowed the elevator to move to the correct floor as soon as Steve confirmed that the security team were authorised to be with him. Their names and IDs had been confirmed with the AI earlier, but it still required the approval of Steve, Stark, or Rumlow before they would be allowed anywhere near Bucky. Once they made it to the correct floor, Steve had to go through the palaver of passcodes and palm prints, but that wasn't the biggest problem. The biggest problem was that there wasn't enough room inside the little antechamber for everyone. Steve went in with the container, and there was just about enough room for two other people to squeeze in with them. Steve took Rumlow and one of the others, and didn't worry about the rest, because Bucky was still unconscious in his box. 

Once inside, Steve went straight through to the bedroom, which now contained an actual bed. It took another round of passcode and palm prints before he could get the transport container to open. As soon as the lid unsealed, he was hit by the stench. The gas mask had protected him before, but now his nostrils were assaulted with the stink of unwashed flesh and stale sweat. 

"Jesus!" Rumlow exclaimed. "Maybe we should hose him down before we do anything else." 

The part of Steve that could sympathise with that reaction was overwhelmed by the anger at the thought of someone stripping and washing Bucky while he was unconscious and unable to voice an objection. "He can take a shower when he's awake and able to do it for himself. He's had enough done to him without him being groped in his sleep." 

"Sorry. I didn't mean it like that. I just meant... yikes." 

"He hasn't been allowed a wash in a year and a half. I doubt you'd be doing much better." 

Rumlow fell silent, no longer attempting to defend his words, and Steve reached into the container, taking hold of Bucky under the knees and around the back, lifting him free from his temporary prison. He laid Bucky out on the soft bed, smoothing his limbs out, before removing the IV line and applying a bandaid over the wound. He wasn't sure how long it would take for the sedative to wear off, but the nurse had said that it was unlikely to take long. 

"You should go down to the security office to observe. I'll wait for him to wake up." 

"You sure you don't want to wait outside too?" Rumlow asked. "We don't know how he'll react when he wakes up." 

"I'm sure. You keep your finger on the trigger for the knock out gas, just in case, but I don't think he's going to hurt me." 

"Whatever you say, Cap," Rumlow said. He and the other security guy took the transport container with them. Steve sat down in the armchair Stark had provided, which gave him a clear view of Bucky's sleeping form, and he waited for him to wake up.


	16. Chapter 16

The asset woke to unfamiliar softness beneath him instead of the cold of his cell. His thoughts were sluggish and he remembered the drug that was administered. He remembered Steve’s words, his promise about his new home. Was this comfort? 

The asset opened his eyes, his thoughts clearing with every second that passed, and he took in the white-painted ceiling above him, closer and cleaner than the ceiling of his cell. He turned his head, taking in the rest of the room, and his eyes fell on the figure sitting in the corner. 

His breath caught. 

Steve looked exactly like the asset had pictured him, broad and muscular, with a gentle, almost nervous smile beneath his halo of blond hair. 

“Hello, Steve,” the asset said. 

“Hello, James.” Steve’s nervous smile turned into a grin and the asset wanted to return the expression. It was nice to see Steve happy. It was nice to see Steve. 

“Take as long as you need to recover,” Steve continued. “When you’re ready to get up, I’ll show you around this place and explain the rules.” 

Of course there were rules. There were always rules. The asset was good at rules, even if Steve wasn’t a real handler. The asset tested his movements and found them unhindered, without any more pain than the ever-present ache caused by his left arm. His head ached a little, but not enough to impair function, so the asset stood. 

“You’re ready now?” Steve asked. The asset couldn’t answer, so he just waited for Steve to continue. “Alright. The first rule is that you’re not allowed to hurt anyone. If you try, you will be restrained or incapacitated in some way. It could be very painful and I don’t want to hurt you, so please don’t attack anyone.” 

Steve waited for some kind of acknowledgement. The asset wondered if the fact he was standing here, not attacking Steve in any way, counted as an acknowledgement of the rule. The asset didn’t want to attack Steve, but the implication was that there would be other people. Other people who might hurt the asset or want things from him. He wasn’t allowed to stop them, wasn’t allowed to fight, because hurting them would go against Steve’s wishes. He would comply if it was what would make Steve happy, so long as it didn’t interfere with his other protocols. 

Steve presumably accepted that the asset wasn’t going to speak, because he pressed on, “You’re allowed to go anywhere that the floor is green.” He gestured down at the carpet beneath their feet. The asset dug bare toes into the thick, soft pile of pale green. “So you’re always allowed in here, but there are other parts of this place that will be off-limits. Over time, if you cooperate, we plan on increasing the limits on where you’re allowed to go.” 

Steve stood, watching the asset for any movement, then risked turning his back on the asset to open a nearby door. The asset walked closer so he could look through the door. There was a bathroom. Immediately inside the door, the floor was tiled in pale green. A path of these green tiles led to the toilet and a small sink set into the wall. So the asset would always be able to relieve himself. The rest of the bathroom floor was made up of wide panels that glowed faintly green as well, but these were electrified devices. 

“These panels,” Steve indicated, “can change colour. When they’re green, you’re allowed to go there. When they’re red – Jarvis, change one of the panels.” A panel in the middle of the room instantly changed to a red glow. “When they’re like this, you’re not allowed to go there. If you try and go somewhere the floor is red, you will receive an electric shock that will be extremely painful.” 

The asset pictured walking across a floor of green panels only for some cruel handler or scientist to change the panels under him to make him break the rules, so that they would have an excuse to hurt him. He didn’t think Steve would do that to him. 

He wanted to believe Steve wasn’t like that. 

He took a cautious step onto one of the glowing panels. When nothing happened, he continued into the room, looking at the fixtures. There was a shower and a bath, both with glowing green panels under them. 

“If you want to get clean, you can do,” Steve said. “There’s fresh clothes in the bedroom. You can take a shower or a bath if you like and we can continue the tour later. Or I can keep showing you round and you can come back here afterwards.” 

A choice. The asset wasn’t used to choices. He would be glad to be rid of the stink and grime of his time in that cell, but the thought of being blasted by an icy spray to clean him off was not appealing. He especially didn’t want that from Steve. Besides, he ought to understand his surroundings. His protocol was still that he should try to escape and for that he needed to get the layout of this place, understand the limits of his freedoms. 

The asset walked out of the bathroom. Steve took that as an answer and followed him. He showed him the closet and drawers of the bedroom, with clean clothes and spare sheets and towels. 

“If you want anything cleaned,” Steve said, “leave it outside the bedroom door and I’ll see it gets sorted.” 

Steve then opened the other door. The floor immediately outside had the panels glowing green so the asset followed into a wide room. There was a large, open space, with a couch and a coffee table, piles of beanbags and cushions, and a television set into one wall that was almost as wide as the asset was tall. 

Not all of the floor was green. One wall had metal plating covering it from floor to ceiling and the tiles around that were red. There was also a metal door with obvious security locks beside it and there was a border of red three panels wide around that. That had to be the way out of this cell. 

The asset looked at the door and its boundary of red. He looked at Steve. Then he crouched down slightly and, from a standing start, jumped. He cleared three floor panels with ease and then turned around and looked at Steve. 

The asset wasn’t disobeying protocol. It was important that he test his ability to escape. If anything, he was obeying protocol. That thought felt false even to himself and his skin prickled with anxious sweat at this almost disobedience. 

“Jarvis, increase the boundary around the door,” Steve said. The panels switched to red, leaving a barrier five panels wide. The asset looked at it for a moment before picking up some of the beanbags and moving them aside to give himself a path. He backed up to one wall, took two steps as a run up, and cleared seven panels with still only minimal effort. He could use the couch or coffee table to give himself some extra height and he would be able to clear a more substantial distance. He looked back at Steve, who was frowning at him. 

"There's another door behind that. Even if you jump over the red panels, you won't be able to get out, but we can make the whole room red if someone needs to come in or out." 

That would be more secure. The room was large enough that the asset didn't believe he would be able to jump from the bedroom to the door, and if there was another door behind this one, then he would be kept contained. He wasn't disobeying by figuring this out. It was important that he understand the limits of his containment. With this subject settled, the asset waited to be shown the rest of this place. 

It took Steve a few moments to realise that the asset was waiting for him, but then he started opening the other doors. The rooms beyond them were panelled in red. 

"If you cooperate," Steve said, "we'll start opening up these rooms to you. This one is a gym and apparently the equipment can cope with enhanced strength so you should be able to get a good workout if you want." 

The asset peered at weight and cardio machines. He had been put on machines like that before when his handlers had wanted to measure the limits of his skills. He remembered the exhaustion, the aching muscles, the burning thirst in his mouth as sweat itched on his skin. He was glad the floor was red. 

"We've got a library here," Steve said, "so you won't have to turn your brain to mush watching TV all the time. I suggested a few books to go in here and you can ask for more. For now, if you want a book out of here, let me know and I can fetch it for you." 

This door revealed a room full of shelves, most of which were empty. There were more seats in there, and a desk. There was even a computer. 

Steve walked to the next door, which showed another bedroom, a door beyond into another bathroom. "If you want company, I can stay here sometimes." 

The asset's mind was filled with images of lying on a bed, another body beside his, his arm wrapped around shoulders and rubbing warmth into cold arms. The details were fuzzy, but the image brought with it a feeling of comfort, of companionship. The asset wondered if Steve would put his arms around him on that bed. It was certainly big enough for two, bigger than the bed in the memory. 

The next door Steve opened made the asset take a step back, flinching away from what he saw inside, the gurney and the machines. 

"It's alright," Steve said. He shut the door quickly, but the asset knew it was there now. He knew what equipment like that meant. He tried not to feel hurt that Steve would bring him into a place with equipment like that. "We want to do some tests, some scans, to see what was done to your brain and see if we can fix it. We’re not going to hurt you. I just want to make you better." 

Make him better. The asset knew what that meant. They had said his new arm was to make him better. The training and punishments were to make him better, make him a better weapon, a better tool. There was no way of making him better that didn't hurt. 

"It OK," Steve said. "We don't have to go in there." 

Except they wouldn't have built that room and put the equipment inside it if they didn't expect him to go inside sooner or later. Steve's words were a lie and that hurt as much as the inevitable treatments would. The asset fixed Steve with a glare and knew that he would have to weigh every word carefully to determine if it was true. He couldn't just accept the things Steve told him if he would lie about something like that. What else was he lying about? 

"Let's go in here," Steve said, leading to the final door. This room's floor was a mix of red and green. The room was a kitchen, but red panels would prevent him from walking to the oven or the other equipment on the long counters, or most of the cupboards and drawers. He could easily reach the fridge, one cupboard, and a table on which a bowl of fruit sat. 

"We might give you supervised access to more of the kitchen later," Steve said, "but for now you can come in here if you want something to drink or a snack. You're going to get proper meals as well, but if you're hungry or thirsty in between the scheduled meals, you can come in here and grab something." He opened the fridge to reveal cartons of juice and milk, and bottles of water. Next to it, the cupboard contained protein bars and bags of chips. This array of choice felt like a trap, like someone was waiting to see if he did something wrong, but he eyed up his options. Adequate nutrition was essential if he was to attempt an escape or withstand torture. If they were going to use those other rooms to test out his endurance or perform treatments, he would need all the strength he could get. 

He walked to the fruit bowl, still eyeing Steve warily, waiting for the trap to spring closed. 

He picked out an apple and there was no punishment, no pain for daring to perform an action without an explicit order. He picked up a pear. He studied them both, seeing fruit that appeared to be fresh and healthy. He held both out towards Steve. 

"Choose." 

The asset wasn't allowed to give orders to a handler, but it was right to make sure Steve got enough fruit. Even if he was being mean and lying to him, he needed vitamins. It was important he ate right so he didn't get sick. 

"The apple?" Steve said, making it sound more like a question than a decision. The asset brought the pear to his own mouth and took a bite, leaving the apple still in the outstretched hand. He didn't worry about them poisoning the pear. There were far more efficient ways for them to drug or poison him if that was what they intended. So he ate the piece of fruit, feeling the sweet juice over his tongue. Sweetness was such a rare thing, a part of him wanted to close his eyes and savour it, but Steve was still standing there, staring at the apple and not making a move to take it. The asset stared pointedly and jerked his hand in an indication that Steve should do something. 

"This food's meant for you, James," Steve said. The asset jerked his hand again. 

"Eat it." 

"Alright." 

Steve took the apple and bit into it. The stood there in this strange kitchen, half the room forbidden, and ate their fruit. There was still no sign of punishment, not even for daring to give orders to a handler or a captor. Steve had said he didn't want to hurt the asset, but he had been lying about the treatment room. He might be lying about anything. He might even have lied about the panels on the floor. The asset knew he had to test them. If his former owners came for him and the floor did not shock him as Steve had said, he would be punished severely for being remiss in his attempts to escape. 

He didn't believe Steve would lie about this, but it was possible. If Steve really didn't want to hurt him, he might pretend that there would be hurt in order to control him. 

The asset finished his pear and then let Steve take the core and walk across the red panels to a waste disposal to get rid of the remains of their snack. The red panels didn't shock Steve. 

The asset braced himself for pain and took a tentative step away from the green.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter probably deserves a minor warning for self-harm

"Bucky!" 

Pain raged through the asset's body. All his muscles tensed and spasmed. He barely noticed the pain of the impact as he hit the floor because everything else was burning from the inside with the electricity. 

"Jarvis, shut it off!" 

The electricity stopped but the asset's muscles continued twitching with the after-effects. 

Warm hands grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him back onto the green part of the floor. The asset felt control return as the electricity was no longer making his muscles contract so much he thought he might break his own bones. He became more aware of Steve crouched in front of him, hands still touching him. The asset's left shoulder felt the contact as mere pressure, but his right noted the warmth of Steve's touch, the surprising smoothness of his fingers. Did his accelerated healing prevent the formation of callouses? 

"Bucky," Steve said, then corrected himself, "James, are you alright?" 

The asset couldn't answer the question, couldn't provide information to a captor, but he was recovering. He pushed himself into a sitting position, demonstrating that he was not badly injured, even if he couldn't say that in words. Steve's hand remained on his right shoulder. The asset looked at the hand, wondering when he had last been touched in a way that wasn't associated with pain. 

"Sorry," Steve said, snatching his hand back. The asset felt the ghost of his touch in the cold point that had been warm only moments before. The asset followed the movement of Steve's hand, wondering how he could make Steve touch him like that again. 

"Please be more careful," Steve said. "We had to fit this place with security to keep you secure and that means keeping you away from the door and windows and anything you could use as a weapon. Doing it this way, with the panels, was supposed to let you have a bit more freedom, so we don't have to keep you locked in your room when I'm not here to supervise, but it means that you will get hurt if you go on the red panels. Please, don't. Please take care." 

Steve looked like he might cry. It seemed he hadn't been lying about either the panels or his dislike of seeing the asset hurt. 

"I'll take care," the asset said. It wasn't a promise to stay away from the red panels completely, because he still had his order to try and escape, but it was a compromise. He could be careful about how he tried to escape. He would need to avoid the red panels anyway because he would be unable to effectively escape if he was twitching on the ground, unable to control his muscles. 

"Thank you, James," Steve said. 

The asset got to his feet, demonstrating a return to functionality. Steve stood as well, keeping a little distance between them. 

"Why don't you go take a shower and change into some clean clothes?" Steve said. "After that, I can show you some of the entertainment options you have now." 

It was an order phrased as a question. Cleanliness would be an improvement over his current state. The asset walked back towards the bedroom. Steve lingered in the main living room and moved towards the heavy door. Once the asset was inside the bedroom, the floor of the living area turned red. 

"I'll be back when you're done," Steve told him. "Jarvis, the AI, will be watching. If you need anything, just say something out loud and Jarvis will hear." He started the process of unlocking the door. The asset watched carefully, noting the use of biometrics which would make it difficult to spoof the locking mechanism. Getting to the door would be more challenging now as well, as the angles would not allow a sufficient run up to clear the distance to the door. Steve would not make escape easy, and for that the asset could be glad. 

He walked into the bathroom and stripped off the filthy clothes he had been wearing through his incarceration in the previous facility. He stepped under the shower head and braced himself for the stinging spray. 

Warm water rained down gently over his skin. He frowned in surprise. He studied the panel in front of him, which had a red dot on one side and blue on the other, with a marker approximately halfway between them. Was red forbidden here too? 

The asset reached out and touched the marker on the panel, moving his finger and noting that the marker moved with it. As he moved the marker towards red, the water became warmer, then hot, until the spray was almost painful and the room was filled with steam. He couldn't remember the last time he had been so warm. Showers meant a spray from a hose, shivering with cold. Showers meant preparation for the ice or cleansing following a mission, a way to rid him of blood and dirt. He wasn't sure how he was supposed to react to heat against the muscles aching from the earlier electricity. He also wasn't sure how to react to having this control. 

There were no rough hands on him, tugging at his hair, shoving him around, forcing him to stand under a spray that felt like it might drown him. There was just himself, and the heat, and the water rinsing him clean. 

He touched the panel again, trying to nudge it even further into the red. 

"My safety protocols do not allow the temperature to be increased any higher." 

The asset understood voices out of nowhere and had known he was being observed. Still, it caught him off-guard when the voice spoke, probably because it had been so long since anyone except Steve had spoken to him. His heart raced faster, his body automatically anticipating pain for daring to try something disallowed, but no pain was forthcoming. In fact, avoiding pain seemed to be the point, since the temperature was already at an uncomfortable level. Any higher would risk injury. Steve didn't want him hurt. 

The asset lowered the temperature a little. 

He would be unable to use the shower as a weapon to injure anyone else, but no one would be able to use it to injure him unless the safety protocols were overridden. 

"Did Steve set your safety protocols?" the asset asked. 

"My protocols were all set by Mr Stark," the voice replied. 

Stark. The name made the asset flinch internally. 

"Howard Stark?" the asset asked. 

"Anthony Stark, known more commonly as Tony Stark. Mr Stark is the son of Howard Stark." 

The person who controlled the asset's safety was the son of a person the asset had killed. That didn't bode well for the asset's future safety. Were they aware that the asset had killed Howard Stark? 

Perhaps it was a good thing that he was forbidden to give information to his captors. If they knew, he was unlikely to be left unpunished. Perhaps Steve would prevent Tony Stark from hurting him, or perhaps Steve would let him. After all, the asset wasn't Bucky Barnes and Howard had been Steve's friend. Steve might let Tony Stark hurt him. 

"If you require shampoo and body wash," the voice said, "place your hand into the openings beneath the temperature controls." 

There were two slots, each large enough to admit a hand, and each labelled clearly. The asset placed his hand into the slot labelled shampoo. A green liquid trickled down into his waiting palm, filling the room with the scent of apples. The asset began to clean his hair. He didn't know when he would next be given the opportunity for cleanliness, so he would take this time he had been given while he had it, while his captors remained unaware of his past actions. 

***

Steve's hands were shaking as he entered his code to open the outer door. When he'd heard Bucky's body hit the kitchen floor, for one terrifying moment he'd thought he was dead. Bucky was alive, he reminded himself, but the pain on his face had been excruciating just to watch. And Bucky was so different from the person he remembered. 

He wasn't sure what he had expected. Had he thought Bucky would take one look at his face and snap back into who he used to be? Maybe some part of him had been hoping for that. When Bucky had woken up and addressed him by name, for one fleeting moment Steve had been filled with joy, but everything after that showed how different Bucky was, how much he had been hurt. His silence, the way he'd frowned at Steve's hand when he touched him, like he was planning on removing the offending limb by force, all of that demonstrated clearly how hurt he'd been. He didn't even want Steve near him. 

In the security office, Stark and Rumlow were waiting for him. One of Rumlow's team was sitting at the monitors, the others off patrolling or checking the Tower's security or whatever it was Rumlow had them doing to keep this place secure. 

"Well, that was interesting," Stark said. 

"The part where your floor nearly killed him?" 

"Don't exaggerate. He's fine. I'll dial down the voltage slightly, but we had to make sure it would work on him despite his enhancements, but I don't think he'll tread on the panels again. I think he was testing them." 

"Testing them?" 

"It was deliberate," Rumlow said, clearly agreeing with Stark. 

Stark continued, "He waited until you had your back turned and then he very deliberately stepped on the nearest panel. He was checking what would happen. Now he knows. I'm more concerned about the fact he was giving you tips on improving security." 

That had struck Steve as strange. 

"If he wanted to escape," Stark said, "he wouldn't have done that in front of you. If anything, he would have downplayed his physical abilities. He was showing you what he was capable of so that we could improve security." 

"But why? If he doesn't want to leave, he just wouldn't need to leave. Why tell us what to do to keep him locked up if he wants to stay, and why show us how he might try to escape if he plans on leaving?" 

No one had an answer for that. 

On the security feed, the camera displays of which covered almost an entire wall of the office, Bucky was visible in the bathroom, obscured a little by steam. He obviously tensed as Jarvis addressed him about the safety protocols, but then he spoke, asking Jarvis questions about the protocols and about Tony. The curiosity was a little surprising, but then he had asked Steve about himself before. It just hurt that he was being more conversational with Jarvis than he had been with Steve. 

"He didn't like the lab," Steve said. 

"Understandable, if he's been poked and prodded in the brain by mad scientists," Stark said. "Best bet there is to give him plenty of information about what we're planning on doing so that he can see that it won't hurt." 

"And if he still doesn't want brain scans?" 

"Then he doesn't get brain scans." 

Steve felt something unclench at the realisation that Stark would respect Bucky's autonomy. Much as Steve wanted to know what was going on inside Bucky's head, he'd had too many choices stolen from him. He deserved the right to decide about the medical procedures he underwent, even if those procedures were for his own good. Steve just hoped he could persuade Bucky that the scans weren't so scary. 

"It was interesting that he gave you the apple," Stark said. "He didn't wait until you started eating, so I don't think he was testing for poisons. I think he just wanted you to have an apple." 

"He always used to share his food with me when we were little." 

Steve knew what everyone had told him about Bucky, about how he might never be as he'd been before, but the insistence on sharing was a proof to Steve that the heart of Bucky was still there under the layers of trauma and brainwashing. 

"How do you want to proceed?" Stark asked. 

"I'll go back in when he's done with the shower," Steve said. "I'll give him some entertainment options and see how he reacts. Can you have something ordered in for dinner?" 

"Of course. Pizza do?" 

Steve guessed Stark was going for something that didn't require cutlery, just in case Bucky turned violent. He agreed anyway. Bucky probably hadn't had pizza in far too long. 

"He doesn't look like he'll be done with the shower any time soon," Rumlow said, still watching the screen, which was foggy from the steam but still showing Bucky standing under the spray. Steve wouldn't try to force Bucky out of there. If he wanted to take a long shower, it was the least of what he deserved.


	18. Chapter 18

Bucky spent over an hour and a half in the shower. Steve had returned to the apartment cell to wait for him to come out, and he spent that time growing both increasingly bored and increasingly concerned. The fourth time he asked Jarvis if Bucky was alright in there, Jarvis told him, "I will inform you should be appear to be in any sort of distress," in a tone that managed to convey very strongly that Steve should shut up and stop asking. 

Steve still wanted to go into the bathroom and check on Bucky, but he had basically no privacy right now so Steve would preserve what illusion of privacy he had. He paced the living room. He made a cup of tea for himself in the kitchen. He went to inspect the books available in the library. He paced again. He queued up a collection of songs that he remembered from his time before the ice and started them playing, hoping that noise might draw Bucky out. 

Three songs later, Jarvis informed him, "He has emerged from the shower." 

It was a good twenty minutes before Bucky emerged from the bedroom, hair still slightly damp around his shoulders but a lot less tangled. He was dressed in a clean t-shirt and soft pants, feet bare against the panels of the floor. He dropped the dirty clothes next to the bedroom door before looking towards Steve, obviously waiting for something. Steve gave him a smile and hoped he was concealing his frustration. 

"Hi, James. I'm guessing you like the shower." 

Bucky didn't say anything. His skin was still faintly pink from the heat of the shower where it had been ghostly pale before. It was an improvement. 

"Do you want to look in the library?" Steve asked. "Or we could watch something on the TV. Or we could play a game." 

"The library," Bucky answered. 

Steve nodded. "Jarvis, allow access to the library." 

The floor in the library switched to green and Bucky followed him inside. Half of the shelves were empty, ready to be filled with whatever subjects or genres Bucky showed an interest in, but Stark had provided a range of books, including a few educational texts for children. Steve wasn't sure if they were meant to be a joke or if Stark thought a picture book on making friends and being nice to people would be genuinely helpful. There were a handful of novels, some of which were classics Steve was familiar with, some of which had been released in the time he'd been on ice. There were a lot of history books and biographies covering the last few decades, as well as a few of the old pulp sci-fi stories Bucky had always enjoyed. 

Bucky studied the titles carefully, reading each one before moving on to the next. Every so often, he would take a book off the shelf to read the back, but Steve could detect no pattern in his choices. He did his best not to feel impatient as Bucky carefully made a decision. He wanted Bucky to feel that he could choose freely, that he wasn't being pressured here. This was supposed to be his home now, and the books were part of helping him develop his mind again, helping him rebuild the capacity that had been stolen from him. 

Bucky explored every part of the room, walked between all the shelves, even the ones that had nothing in them yet. He looked up towards the ceiling and ran his hands along the walls through the empty shelves. This had stopped being about the books, but it wasn't clear what he was trying to do. Was he looking for a way out of here? 

Once he seemed satisfied that there were no hidden doors in the walls, he returned to reading the titles of books and eventually settled on one about human anatomy. It looked to Steve like a very dry text, but he wasn't going to criticise a choice Bucky had made freely. 

Bucky went to one of the armchairs Stark had furnished the library with and sat down, opening the book to its introduction. 

Steve couldn't just stand around watching him read, so he asked, "Do you want a drink?" 

Bucky considered this a moment and then said, "Yes." 

"OK. I'll be back in a couple of minutes." 

Steve went to the kitchen and started heating up the kettle to make tea. Fury would probably not be happy about giving Bucky a drink hot enough that it could theoretically be used as a weapon, but Steve was confident Bucky wouldn't try to hurt him with it. He grabbed a pair of mugs from a cupboard and found the teabags. 

"Captain Rogers," Jarvis said quickly, "you should return to the library." 

Steve ran, panicked at Jarvis' tone. He arrived in time to see Bucky perched at the top of a set of shelves, prying a light fitting out of the ceiling. He saw the moment when Bucky touched something live, his body going rigid and twitching before he tumbled backwards off the shelf. 

Steve leapt across the room. Bucky's weight hit him in the chest and then they were both on the floor, Steve pinned beneath Bucky, his arms wrapped around him. His heart pounded at the thought of what might have happened and he clutched Bucky closely, waiting for his terror to fade now that he knew Bucky was safe. If he was safe. He had been electrocuted twice in one day because of security measures Steve had agreed to. That meant that Steve was partly responsible for the pain he'd been through, for the potential injury. Bucky's chest moved as he breathed easily and Steve's hands could feel no sign of problem with his pulse, but there was no telling what was going on inside him. 

Steve's face was buried in Bucky's hair, his arms around his chest. He breathed in Bucky's scent, the closeness reminding him that he was alive, but Bucky remained stiff in Steve's arms. There didn't seem to be an injury from his fall, but he was obviously not comfortable. The reassurance that Steve got from their closeness clearly didn't go both ways. 

Steve forced his arms to let go of Bucky so that he could slide out from under him and move away. Once they were no longer touching, the stiffness vanished, cementing in Steve's mind the knowledge that Bucky wasn't happy when he was so close. He was probably freezing in a fear response from all the pain he'd been put through. Steve didn't want to be a reason for him to suffer further, however much he might want to have a hand on Bucky constantly to reassure himself that he really was real, that he really was here. 

"Did I injure you?" Bucky asked. 

"What? I'm fine. Are you alright?" Steve asked. 

Bucky didn't answer. He got to his feet and went back to his chair where he'd left his book. Steve glanced upwards to where Bucky had been perched. There was no sign of any damage to the ceiling, no sign of whatever he'd been attempting to do. 

"If I leave you alone in here, are you going to do something else that gets you hurt?" Steve asked. 

Bucky seemed to consider the question but he didn't answer. Steve wanted to scream in frustration. He had thought it would be easier to figure out what was going on in Bucky's head once he could see his face, but Bucky's face remained placid, blank, impossible to read. 

"I'm going to go and get us something to drink," Steve said, "but only if you promise that you're not going to leave that chair while I'm gone." 

Bucky thought about this and then nodded. "I promise I won't leave this chair until you get back." 

"Thank you, James." 

Steve had to leave then, if only to test whether Bucky would keep his promise. He returned to the kitchen, where the kettle was boiling. He used the time of making the tea to try and regain some sense of calm. All Stark's security measures had seemed sensible when they were discussing them in the abstract, but now all Steve could see were a million ways that Bucky could get hurt. That Bucky could hurt himself. 

It didn't make sense. Why show Steve how to keep him from escaping and then risk electrocution trying to escape? Why act so calm with him if he wanted to leave? Why hadn't he made a move against Steve, who was effectively his jailer here? It wasn't that Steve wanted Bucky to get it into his head to start fighting him, but he didn't understand what Bucky was trying to do. 

He made the tea as quickly as possible and Jarvis didn't warn him to go back. Sure enough, as Steve carried the two drinks into the library, Bucky was sitting waiting in the chair. He stood up only when Steve had crossed the threshold into the room, but the only thing he did was hold out his hand to take one of the mugs. Steve handed the drink over, a part of him waiting for Bucky to use the drink as a weapon, to throw the hot liquid in his face or perhaps to try to use it to short out the electronics. 

Bucky sat back down and took a sip of the tea. 

"Do you like it?" Steve asked. 

Bucky didn't answer in words, but he took a larger drink of the tea. In a way, that was an answer. 

"I want to help you," Steve said. "We had to put the security measures in place to get you out of the cell you were in before, to get you out of solitary, but I don't want those security measures to hurt you. If you try things like that again," he waved vaguely at the light fitting, "all that will happen is you get hurt. There's a security team watching you and if it looks like you might be starting to get out, they can render you unconscious. The door and the walls are all reinforced so you can't break through, but you will hurt yourself if you try. Please don't." 

Bucky didn't say anything. It was hard to tell if he'd understood, but he'd watched Steve throughout his little speech, focused intently on him through every word. 

He drank his tea and read the heavy book propped open in his lap. Steve drank his tea and watched, wondering what the hell he was supposed to do. He wanted so desperately to make things right but Bucky was barely talking to him. How could he know what was going on in Bucky's head? How was he to know what would help? 

Bucky had made the choice to read, so Steve let him. Much as he wanted to try and engage with Bucky, he knew that he had to give Bucky the freedom to choose as much as possible, given how limited that freedom was. Time passed slowly, but Steve couldn't bring himself to find a book of his own. 

"Captain Rogers," Jarvis said, "the food you requested has arrived." 

"Thank you, Jarvis. James, I'm just going to get our dinner." 

He left Bucky in the armchair without demanding another promise to stay still. He had to wait and see if his words had any effect. He went back to the living room and had Jarvis switch the entire floor to red for the time it took him to leave the room and retrieve the pizza boxes from Stark. 

"He's a fine conversationalist," Stark commented. 

Steve glared at him. "He's been locked in a room by himself for eighteen months." Then, ignoring Stark, "Jarvis, what's he doing?" 

"He is still reading." 

Steve let himself relax just a fraction, hoping that this meant Bucky wouldn't be electrocuting himself again any time soon. 

He went back inside and had Jarvis change the living room back to green. He set the pizza boxes down on the coffee table before going back to the library. Bucky put down his book and stood without waiting to be told. 

"You can bring the book with you if you want to read it later," Steve said, "but I thought I'd show you the other entertainment features." He left the library and let Bucky follow him, with or without the book as he chose. "Jarvis, display the menu." 

The music he had started earlier continued playing, but now the ridiculous television showed an array of options. There were the various cable and streaming services Stark had installed, but one of the menu options was a little different. Steve had placed some calls to the Smithsonian on learning that they had a Captain America exhibit and they had graciously provided him with copies of all their electronic files, which included photographs of all the physical items in their displays. There had been a surprising amount, including most of the old propaganda films and scans of several of the comic books. 

Bucky sat down on the couch beside Steve, staring at the screen. 

"You interact with it by talking to Jarvis," Steve explained. "Jarvis, show Smithsonian materials." The other icons on the screen vanished, replaced by another series of menu options, this time offering videos, still photos, comic book scans, newspaper articles, and records. "Videos." Now they could choose between interviews, war footage, pre-combat propaganda footage, post-combat propaganda footage, and news reports of the day. "Post-combat footage. Play a random selection." 

A black and white video started to play, showing Steve and the Howling Commandos preparing for an assault, Bucky standing at Steve's side as he always did. 

Steve turned to Bucky, who was staring at the screen with rapt attention. 

"You wanted to know about Bucky Barnes," Steve said. "Now you can see him. Or not. If you want to watch something else, there are lots of movies and television shows. Vastly more than when we... when I was younger. We can watch while we eat." 

Steve picked up the pizza box from the top of the pile and offered it to Bucky. Bucky glanced at it long enough to take a slice but then was instantly back to staring at the screen as though it would hurt to look away. He barely seemed to notice what he was eating, or even that he was. All his attention was on the screen in front of him, where Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes were interacting. 

"This stuff's here for you to watch any time," Steve said. "Any time the living area is green anyway. You can talk to Jarvis and tell him what you want to see." 

"Thank you." 

"You're welcome, James." 

It was hard to know what was happening behind Bucky's eyes, but Steve thought his thanks were genuine. He thought Bucky was glad to have the Smithsonian footage. Maybe something would jog a memory, but at the least Bucky wouldn't be left staring at blank walls all day every day. 

When they had finished eating, Steve got rid of the empty boxes and put the one that still had a few slices in it into the fridge in the green area of the kitchen so that Bucky would be able to eat them whenever he wanted. He would have to eat them cold because the microwave was in the red part of the kitchen, but it was still better than nothing. Steve returned to the couch and asked Bucky if he wanted to keep watching the archive footage or if he wanted to do something else, watch something else. Bucky kept his eyes locked on the screen. 

"This," he said. There was no arguing with that tone. 

"Alright," Steve said. "We'll keep watching this." 

And so they did, until Jarvis had looped through every video in this category three times and Steve decided it was time to call it a night. 

"I'm going to go home and get some sleep," Steve said. "I need you to go into the bedroom while I leave, but afterwards you'll be able to come back in here and keep watching if you like. Or you can read your book. Or get some sleep yourself. It's up to you what you do. Do you understand?" 

Once again, Bucky didn't answer in words, but he picked up his book and walked into the bedroom without argument. He stopped at the doorway and turned back round to face him. 

"Good night, Steve." 

"Good night, James." 

Steve had Jarvis restrict the living room again before he opened up the main door. He wouldn't go home right away. He was curious to see what Bucky would do once he was alone.


	19. Chapter 19

The asset watched Steve leave. He didn't want Steve to leave. It felt like having something stolen from him to watch Steve walk out the door, but he had to believe that Steve would be coming back. He had brought the asset to this place so that he could see him in person, and that was better. Everything about this situation was better. The asset had soft furniture. The asset had food when he needed it. The asset had a shower he could make warm. The asset had books to provide information and images of Bucky Barnes he could use to pretend to be human for Steve. 

All of that made being in this place worth it, even if this place had the other room, the one with the medical equipment. The asset had faced experiments before without any of the good things Steve had provided. Even with all of the pain that room would provide, the new cell was better. 

It was also secure, but still the asset needed to test that out. The asset had protocols to follow and one of those was that he needed to try to escape. The asset watched the door close behind Steve and then, a minute later, the floor of the living room turn mostly green again. He walked over to the wall, as close to the door as he could manage. The layout of the cell with its many rooms didn't give access to the space beyond this wall, so presumably it was outside the confinement area. He would find out soon. He brought his left arm back and swung his weight forward into a solid punch. 

His metal fist left a dent in the plaster and a spiders web of cracks in the paintwork, but it didn't penetrate the wall. There was something solid beyond the plaster. He swung his fist again and again until he was able to claw out the remaining chunks of plaster, digging down to the sturdy metal beneath. He touched a cautious tip of a finger to the metal, expecting the pain and debilitation of shocks, but none came. This wall wasn't electrified. At least not at the moment. 

He tried to tell himself that he was reassured by this, not disappointed. He pulled back his left arm and punched the metal with all the strength he could muster, and again, and then again. Over and over he punched, until he was breathing hard and his body drenched in sweat, but all he managed to achieve was a barely perceptible dent in the surface on the metal. There was no need for this to be electrified because he was unable to break through it. 

He panted, staring at the wall he couldn't break through, and smiled a little. Steve wasn't going to let him escape. 

But still the protocol had to be followed. This wasn't the only wall. He considered, and then went into the library, which Steve had left accessible to him. He went to one of the walls and raised his left fist to punch. 

Jarvis' voice sounded from somewhere above him. "All the walls of this containment area have the same reinforcement." 

It was logical to assume that Jarvis was telling the truth. After all, why would someone reinforce one wall but not the others? Still, the asset had to put this to the test. He punched into the plaster until he made another hole, until he exposed the metal beneath. He punched this metal panel once, just to see if it was as sturdy as the first. It was. 

Satisfied, the asset looked about for something else to test. He climbed the library shelves again and clung to the top so that he could punch upwards. He stayed clear of the light fittings this time and just punched into the carefully painted ceiling until he found more metal. 

He edged along the shelf, closer to the light, and again attacked the plasterwork. He was more cautious here, pulling away ceiling materials until he could see how the light fitting worked into the ceiling, wires and connectors going through a hole in the metal no larger than a centimetre across. He would not be able to escape through that and anything he attempted would just result in him contacting the live wires feeding electricity into the light. 

The asset climbed carefully down the shelves. There was one direction he hadn't tried yet. He stared down at the floor. He got down onto his hands and knees and brought his fist back to punch. 

"If you damage the floor tiles," Jarvis informed him, "you will be electrocuted and the room flooded with knockout gas. You will be confined to your bedroom while the floor is repaired." 

The asset considered whether this was likely to be true and he decided that it was. Given the other precautions, it was logical to accept this warning for what it was. He stood. 

"Thank you, Jarvis." 

"You're welcome." 

The asset returned to the living room. He studied the now-dark television and a part of him wanted to ask for the videos of Steve and Bucky again, but the protocol was more important. 

"Jarvis, show me schematics of this cell." 

"I am not authorised to provide you that information." 

That also made sense. His captors didn't want him seeing the details in case he identified a flaw in their containment. So the asset considered what he knew of this cell and its security measures. He thought of Jarvis' warning about the floor tiles, but there was one part of the cell that didn't have the panels. He walked back to the bedroom and set about tearing up a corner of the carpet. There was a thin layer of polished wood beneath that his fist made easy work off, but the solid metal underneath it was no more vulnerable than the ceiling and walls had been. 

The asset sat down beside the mess he had made and considered. It seemed the only way meant for a person to get in and out of here was the door, but there were ways for other things to get in an out, like the electricity for the lights. The holes for the light fitting had been too small by far, but other holes would need to be larger. It was unlikely they would be large enough to fit him and if he attempted the most obvious, he would leave himself at a severe disadvantage. 

"Jarvis, how wide is the opening for the toilet outflow?" he asked. 

"Ten point five centimetres," Jarvis answered. 

It was probably the truth. There would be no need to create an opening large enough to fit a person just to allow for the expulsion of bodily waste. There was no need to destroy the toilet just to find out that he would be unable to escape, since he doubted that Steve would leave such an opening after the care taken with the rest of the confinement. He needed to continue with the other possibilities though, just so that he could give a suitable report if ever needed to demonstrate that he had attempted to comply with the protocols. 

"How wide is the opening for water for the shower?" 

"Seven point nine centimetres." Jarvis was clearly quick on the uptake because he also informed the asset about the width of the outflow for the bath, sink, and shower, as well as the extractor fan in the kitchen, without the asset having to ask about those. He also informed the asset that the vents for the air filtration system were consisted of a number of holes only two millimetres in width and did not lead to spaces large enough to crawl through. 

"Thank you, Jarvis." 

"You're welcome." 

The asset was reassured that he had not been given any openings through which he could make an escape. Satisfied, he stood and went into the bathroom. He used the toilet and washed his hands. He was tempted to take another shower just for the novelty of being clean, but the floor in here was still green. He would trust that Steve would still leave it green tomorrow. 

"I can provide you a toothbrush and tooth paste," Jarvis told him, "but I should warn you that if you attempt to convert the toothbrush into a weapon, you will be rendered unconscious and your teeth brushing privileges revoked." 

Given how closely Jarvis was watching him, this threat seemed credible. Besides, his fist was a more powerful weapon than any shiv carved from a toothbrush could be. 

"I will use the toothbrush for its intended purpose only," the asset said. Keeping his teeth clean would prevent possible disease and ensure he remained functional. 

"Very good." 

A metal panel in the wall slid aside, revealing a small slot above the sink, like the chutes his food used to be deposited down but smaller, too small for him to fit more than an arm through. A plastic toothbrush and a small tube of toothpaste slid into view. The asset retrieved them. 

"Thank you, Jarvis." 

The asset brushed his teeth and then set the toothbrush and paste on the sink where he could retrieve them tomorrow. He returned to the bedroom and lay down on top of the big bed, thinking how large it seemed for just himself. It would be a much more suitable size if Steve were here with him, but he was alone. Almost alone. 

"Goodnight, Jarvis." 

"Goodnight, James. Would you like me to reduce the lights to help you sleep?" 

The asset hadn't realised that was an option. "Yes, please." 

The light level dropped immediately until only a faint glow remained. It was potentially disadvantageous if he were to be attacked as his enemies might have night vision equipment, but since Jarvis controlled the lights, he could reduce the illumination under those circumstances anyway, so the asset lost nothing but allowing himself better sleep. He closed his eyes and hoped that Steve would come back soon. 

***

Steve had never left. He was standing in the security office, watching Bucky in shades of green on the low light display Jarvis could provide despite having turned down the lights inside the room. He had watched Bucky's escape attempts. He'd stopped Rumlow from gassing him at the first punch, thinking it was better to let Bucky try to escape and see he couldn't if only because otherwise they would probably have to keep gassing him. He'd almost regretted the decision as he'd watched Bucky climbing around the library, but Bucky had clearly relaxed once he'd figured out that there was no way in or out. 

That didn't make sense. 

He'd smiled when he'd figured out that he wasn't going to punch through the walls. If not being able to punch through the wall made him happy, then why had he tried to do it in the first place? 

It was also strange the way he interacted with Jarvis, asking for information and accepting the answers without any seeming doubt. And the way he asked was strange too. Steve didn't find the polite pleases and thank yous "kinda creepy," as Rumlow had assessed them, but it was odd. It was hard to imagine his captors drilling manners into him, but Steve remembered watching Bucky's Mom tapping his knuckles with a wooden spoon and admonishing, "I taught you better than that," when Bucky reached for food without saying please. Was this a sign of the old Bucky coming through? 

"I don't think we're going to get any more excitement for a while, Cap," Rumlow announced, after several minutes of Bucky lying motionless on his bed. 

Steve was inclined to agree. Stark had left a while ago, insisting that he had no intention of watching someone punch through his hard work. Steve could probably stand here all night, but it wouldn't help anything. All it would do would make the next day even harder and his tired mind would struggle even more to figure out how to react to Bucky. 

"Yeah. You're right. I'll head home to bed. Are you taking first watch?" 

"Yes, sir. I'll call you if anything changes." 

Steve nodded and left the little security office, leaving Rumlow in charge.


	20. Chapter 20

The asset woke up slowly, feeling somewhat groggy and confused, the softness underneath him strangely alien, as though he might sink through and be smothered. He opened his eyes and for a moment was alarmed that they might be damaged before he remembered the events of the day before. 

"Good morning, Jarvis," he said to the ceiling. 

"Good morning, James. Would you like me to raise the lights?" 

"Yes, please. Is Steve here?" 

"Not yet. Would you like me to inform you when he enters the building?" 

"Yes, please." 

The lights came up gradually enough that they didn't hurt and gave his eyes time to adjust. The asset hadn't thought to ask for that. He went into the bathroom and took the opportunity to have a shower, but he didn't want to spend too long in here today because he wanted to be ready for when Steve came back. He had spent some time thinking about his options as he lay last night, trying to sleep on the strangely soft bed. He wanted Steve to stay here with him, so he had to make Steve feel welcome with the limited resources available to him. 

He was just finishing getting dry when Jarvis announced that Steve had entered the building and would be with him shortly. The asset hurried into the kitchen, getting there before Jarvis made the living room floor red again for Steve's entrance. The kitchen floor was still partly red, but this was a minor obstacle. The asset climbed onto the kitchen table and from there it was an easy jump onto the counter, which was of a polished stone and, the asset judged, unlikely to carry an electric current. 

"What are you doing, James?" Jarvis asked. 

"Making tea." He knew the equipment was here because Steve had made some yesterday. The electric kettle was easy to spot and the asset picked it up, taking it to the sink. The sink controls were metal. 

"Will you electrocute me if I touch these?" the asset asked. 

Jarvis paused a moment before he replied, "No." 

The asset wondered if he'd had to check with someone before making the decision. Perhaps he'd checked with Steve, which would ruin the surprise of the tea. He filled the kettle with water anyway and hunted for the rest of what he needed. The mugs were in a low cupboard which was awkward and meant he had to crouch on the counter to reach down, but he retrieved one and the tea bag. He poured the water into the mug just as Steve walked into the doorway of the kitchen. 

"Hello, James," Steve said, eyeing him warily. 

"Hello, Steve." 

Milk was in the fridge, which was on the other side of the red panels, so the asset was forced to jump again. He should have held the mug in his left hand. As he jumped, hot liquid splashed over the rim of the mug and onto the skin of his flesh hand. 

"Buck!" 

Steve was at his side in an instant, snatching the mug from his hand to set it aside so that he could look at the asset’s skin. He took hold of the asset's wrist, warm fingers against his skin in a way that made the asset yearn for more and that more than made up for the minor pain of some hot tea. 

"We need to get this under cold water," Steve insisted, tugging the asset towards the sink. Jarvis instantly made a path of green for them and soon the asset's flesh hand was under a stinging flow of cold water, no doubt intended as a punishment even if it wasn't one as severe as being hosed down. The asset didn't mind the punishment though, because Steve's fingers were still wrapped around his wrist. The asset stared at them, seeing the way they pressed into his skin without ever hurting him. 

Steve noticed him staring and must have realised that he was undermining the punishment because he pulled his hand away. The asset wanted to grab Steve's arm with his metal hand and put it right back where it had been, but that probably counted as attacking Steve. That was against the rules. 

"You could have waited, B... James. I would have made tea for you." 

"The tea's for you," the asset told him. 

A soft flicker of a smile pushed the anger and concern from Steve's face. The asset knew he'd made the right choice despite this punishment. Steve made himself look serious but the asset could tell he didn't really mean it. 

"You know you're not supposed to go where the floor is red though." 

"I didn't touch the floor." 

The asset had demonstrated his ability to jump the day before and Steve hadn't adjusted the settings of this room as he had the living room, so there had been no reason to believe he really wasn't meant to cross the red here. 

"No jumping across red panels either," Steve said. "Actually, you know what, Jarvis, make this whole room green. But, James, if you try to use the cooking equipment to hurt me or anyone else, I'll make this whole room off limits, which will mean you won't be able to get yourself a snack when I'm not here. Do you understand?" 

The asset nodded. 

"I'm not going to hurt you," he said. 

That made Steve smile again, like the offer of tea. The tea that was now sitting abandoned on the table. 

"You should finish preparing the tea yourself," the asset said, "so it doesn't go cold while I'm being punished." 

"Punished?" Steve said, looking stricken. The asset looked towards the hand still under the steam of cold water. "B... James, that's to stop you getting injured. You just spilled boiling water on your skin. The cold water's to prevent it burning too badly." 

"I heal quickly," the asset said. "A minor burn would not impede my function." 

Especially since he was unlikely to be engaging in a mission requiring heavy combat or serious dexterity in that hand. 

"But it would hurt!" Steve said. "I don't want you hurt." 

The asset re-evaluated the exchange. 

"I'm sorry," the asset said, more for thinking that Steve would punish him than for the injury that distressed him. 

"You don't have to apologise," Steve said. "Just be more careful in future. No more jumping around while holding hot things." 

"I won't need to jump now. You've made the floor green." 

"True. And since there's no point keeping you away from the dangerous kitchen equipment, you might as well stay there while I make us breakfast. Jarvis, enable power to the stove." 

Steve finished making the tea and sipped at it in between actions. He retrieved ingredients that had been in another fridge, this one in the red area, and began mixing together ingredients for pancakes. He added chocolate chips to the mix with a little smile towards the asset. 

"We never would have had these for breakfast when we were young." 

"I wasn't young," the asset reminded him, and the little smile vanished from Steve's face. The asset regretted his words immediately. He had forgotten his plan to pretend to be Bucky Barnes to make Steve happy. 

He watched Steve pour the pancake mixture into a pan on the stove and considered what he could do to make Steve smile again. 

"When I spilled the tea, you called me Buck." 

"I'm sorry, James. I got confused for a minute." 

"I don't mind if you call me Bucky." 

Steve's eyes watered and the asset wondered if he'd miscalculated. Steve dragged a sleeve across his face to dry them but then he smiled despite the dampness that still threatened to fall. 

"Thank you, Bucky." 

The name didn't sound so bad when it came from him. "You're welcome, Steve." 

"What name would you like me to address you by?" Jarvis enquired. 

"James," the asset answered quickly. "Bucky is for Steve, not for anyone else." 

"As you wish, James." 

It was nice to have the machine listen to him. It was nice to give orders instead of receiving them. 

Steve finished making the pancakes and carried them to the table. He decided that the asset had spent enough time with his hand in the cold water, so the asset was allowed to come to the table with Steve and eat. 

"Thank you for cooking, Steve," the asset said. 

"Least I could do," Steve answered, and the asset was struck by an image of a skinny guy, drowning in a hand-me-down shirt two sizes too big, saying the same thing as he put plates on a table. "Least I could do, since you paid for it all," said in a tone that seemed angry about that. That wasn't something that had been in the videos or Steve's stories. 

"You used to cook," the asset said. "For Bucky. Before." 

"You remember that?" 

The asset nodded. It wasn't much of a memory, just a moment of image and sound and the smell of chicken broth. 

"I had difficulty holding down work sometimes, what with my health, so when you were out at work, I used to cook dinner for us both, so that you wouldn't have to worry about it." 

The asset ate the pancakes, wondering if he was supposed to cook for Steve now, since he wasn't doing any real work. He wasn't sure if they would let him, since he hadn't meant to be allowed anywhere near the oven. It was difficult to know how to properly take care of Steve, how to welcome him so that he didn't decide he needed to leave. He considered it as he worked his way through the meal, using the fork and the ridiculously blunt knife that had been allowed to him. 

When they were both done, the asset stood and picked up both plates, carrying them to the sink. It was only polite to do the washing up when someone else had cook. 

"There's actually a dishwasher," Steve said, pulling on a handle of what looked like a cupboard. A door opened downwards, revealing racks for dishes. The asset glared at it, this machine taking away his opportunity to do something nice for Steve, but it would be wasteful to spend time cleaning the plates manually while this was here. So the asset placed the plates and cutlery into the racks. 

"I thought we could play a game," Steve said. 

It turned out that the ridiculous television could be used for games as well as for watching things. The games available didn't need controllers. They could make people on the screen move by standing in front of the screen and moving themselves. Steve explained the rules of one, which involved jumping around to try and make the figure on the screen touch coins while it was propelled along in a raft or on a rail track in the simulated image. It was a silly and pointless endeavour, but the asset found himself smiling as he watched Steve flail around, trying to capture coins. 

Steve laughed at his own ridiculousness and the asset knew he would play stupid games forever if it would keep Steve smiling like that. 

They played the game over and over, trying out each option this particular game had available. When Steve suggested that they stop or take a break, the asset stayed where he was in front of the giant screen because he wanted Steve to keep laughing the way he had on their first game. 

After forty seven play throughs, Steve stopped smiling. The asset threw himself into the game with more enthusiasm, trying to capture every single coin on the screen, to try and get back the happiness from earlier. Steve just frowned harder. 

"Bucky, that's enough," Steve said after fifty three plays. "Jarvis, stop the game." 

Steve moved to stand between the asset and the screen. 

"Bucky, it's just a game. You don't have to do it perfectly. It's not a test or something. Getting every coin isn't important; I'm not sure it's even possible. You can relax." 

Steve had misunderstood. He thought the asset kept playing because the asset wanted to get a better score. He thought it was about the asset, while the asset had thought it was all about Steve. There was no point playing if it didn't make Steve smile. 

"It's alright," Steve said. "You look thirsty. I'll get us some water and then we can play something a bit gentler." 

It turned out that the coffee table turned into a computer screen that could be used to play games. Steve turned it into a chess board and they could move pieces by touching them and then touching the square they wanted the piece to move to. The coffee table screen didn't respond to the asset's left hand, but it worked well enough for his right and so he could make the pieces move and play the game. 

"Some people thought this would be safer than giving you actual board games," Steve said. "I guess they thought you could kill me with a chess piece or something." 

"I wouldn't kill _you_." 

Steve smiled at that, but only for an instant. "Does that mean you could kill someone else with a chess piece?" 

That was a ridiculous question. The asset could kill someone with most things if it was necessary, or nothing beyond the left arm bolted to his flesh. He couldn't answer though, because revealing information about his skills would be a breach of protocol. He bent forward, studying the board. 

Steve wasn't good at chess, he knew, though he had no clear memories of ever playing against him. The knowledge was as clear inside him as the feel of a rifle in his hands, something so familiar it didn't need to be tied to a concrete past. Steve would start out the game playing well, thinking strategically, and planning moves ahead. But then he would get bored. His focus would drift and he would start making mistakes. He would act rashly. The more impatient he became, the more clumsy his strategy would become. All the asset had to do to win was take his time, plan each move carefully and then pause with the patience of a sniper waiting for the perfect shot. If he dragged out each move by a few seconds, perhaps a minute, all Steve's careful strategies would come crumbling down. 

The asset found a slow grin forming on his face, the satisfaction of figuring out an opponent's weakness and seeing the path to mission success clearly laid out before him. 

"What is it, Buck?" Steve asked. 

"I know how I'm going to win this game." 

"We're less than ten moves in. You can't possibly have figured it out already." 

"I know your weaknesses. I know you'll never win against me." 

It could have sounded like a threat. It should have been a trigger for electric shocks and knock-out gas, but Steve just grinned back at him, a challenge in his eyes. "We'll see about that." 

He touched his finger to the board and moved a pawn. 

They did see, when the asset won.


	21. Chapter 21

Steve was going to get whiplash from the way the mood kept changing. He had been happy about Bucky wanting to make him tea, but appalled that he'd apparently assumed Steve was punishing him when he held his hand under the water. Bucky had just stood there and taken it, even though he'd thought it was meant to be punishing, even though he'd looked at Steve's hand while they touched like he was considering breaking every finger. 

Steve had been thrilled when Bucky had agreed to the use of his old nickname and to the way he'd reacted to the ridiculous Xbox game, only to get concerned when Bucky seemed to treat it like a test that needed to be passed. He'd been so intent on continuing playing, long after it had stopped being fun, that Steve was sure Bucky thought there would be some penalty for not perfectly. 

But the whiplash swung back around the other way when Bucky had given him that challenging smirk over the chess game, and the look of smug satisfaction as he pinned Steve's king with a queen and the rook. 

"You always used to beat me at chess," Steve said. Bucky didn't argue this time about the fact that he was Bucky Barnes. "I got a chess set for Christmas one year and you would always play with me when I was too sick to go out and do anything outside. I don't think I won a single game against you." 

"He knew your weaknesses too," Bucky said, and the shock of him referring to himself as a different person snapped him back into the dismal mood from earlier. 

Steve tried not to let it show, but he said, "He did," and then quickly changed the subject by going into the kitchen to make sandwiches. Bucky followed him without argument, helping grab ingredients. Bucky poured them each a glass of juice when Steve pulled some salad leaves from a bag of a pre-chopped mix. Given Bucky's disregard for the floor panels earlier, it was probably for the best that there was nothing sharp in this kitchen, even though Bucky had seemed confident he wasn't going to hurt Steve. 

While they were finishing their quick meal, Jarvis said, "Mr Stark has left something outside the security door for you to occupy the afternoon with." 

Bucky sat up sharper. "Stark?" 

Steve wasn't sure why Bucky looked so alarmed by that, given that he'd been told who had been involved in putting together the security for this place. Did his memory issues include forgetting details? 

"Tony Stark. Howard's son. Jarvis told you about him. He owns this building and he's been nice enough to let you stay here." Bucky stared. He still looked alarmed by that idea. "He's a good guy. Overwhelming at times, but he seems like a good man." Steve was willing to bet that if Stark wasn't watching right now, as soon as he found out Steve had said something nice about him, he would go back through the security footage to get the clip and play it on repeat for months. Reassuring Bucky was more important than that though. "It's OK. Maybe you could meet him when you're a bit more settled here?" 

Bucky shook his head so violently his hair whipped around and hit him in the face. "No!" 

"OK. Is it just Tony you don't want to meet or do you not want to meet anyone else?" Proving that his conditioning was breaking would involve bringing in other people eventually, and Steve knew they would need experts to do the brain scans and the therapy sessions that would be necessary if Bucky was ever to get back to a state of mental health, or to prove to the world that his mental state wasn't dangerous to others. 

There was a pause, then Bucky answered. "Just Tony Stark. I don't want to meet him." 

"OK." At some point, Steve would try to unpack why that was, but not now. Now it was more important that Bucky feel safe. "I'll go see what Tony's left us and you can stay here. You don't have to meet him." 

Bucky nodded. 

Jarvis turned the living room floor red without having to be told as Steve approached the door. He let himself out and found what Stark had given them: a dustpan and brush, and a bag of supplies to fix the holes in the walls. He carried them back inside, juggling paint cans and nearly dropping them in his efforts to free up a hand for the security systems. He managed to get everything inside and only dropped the brush when he was back inside. Thankfully he hadn't dropped anything heavier, because it landed on his toes. 

Bucky, standing in the kitchen doorway, gave him a smirk that looked almost like the old days. 

"Don't laugh. This is your mess Stark expects us to clean up. I guess he wants us to patch the holes in the walls." 

"I can't escape through them." 

"Yes, but they're a bit ugly." 

Bucky accepted that answer and took the dustpan and brush. He swept up the plaster dust and paint flecks from under the holes in the living room and library while Steve mixed together a powder with water that would make the filler for the holes. He made two bowls of the stuff and Bucky took one into the library without comment, while Steve worked on the hole in the living room wall. There was a tool that was little more than a stick with a handle that he could use to make a smooth surface, getting the patched area to line up with the painted wall around it. 

When he was done, he went to find Bucky in the library. The hole in the wall was basically done, though Bucky hadn't had the scraper, so Steve took a moment to smooth over the surface of this one. Then he looked up to where Bucky was lying on top of the library shelves, working on the ceiling and clearly struggling not to drop the filler mixture on his face as he spooned it into the hole. 

"You doing alright up there, Bucky?" Steve asked. 

"I'm nearly finished." 

Steve didn't both with the scraper tool since no one would be looking too closely at the ceiling. He just waited, watching anxiously as Bucky finished. After a few minutes, Bucky climbed down from the shelves, dropping before he'd even made it half-way down with no apparent concerns. 

"I guess we need to wait for the filler to dry before we can paint," Steve said, going back into the living room and stacking the paint tins. He noticed the colours on their sides for the first time and shook his head. "Stark thinks he's so funny." 

They only needed white to repair the walls and ceiling, but there were two extra paint tins for them to use: red and blue. Bucky approached on silent feet and took the blue tin from his hand. Steve couldn't tell what Bucky was thinking as he studying it, so he just kept talking. 

"I could get some other colours too. We could paint a whole mural, make the rooms a little more cheerful." 

Bucky set the paint tin on the floor and dug his fingers into the edge of the lid, prying it off. 

"It's too soon to paint over the holes," Steve said. Bucky gave him a look that was painfully familiar, an expression of fond exasperation. He picked up the smallest of the paint brushes Stark had provided and dipped it in the blue. He painted a circle on a blanket section of white wall and then began filling the circle in, or at least parts of it. It took Steve longer than he would have admitted to realise the shape Bucky was leaving white in the middle: a star. Steve felt a slow smile forming on his lips as he opened up the tin of red paint and found a clean brush for when Bucky had finished with the inner circle. He knew what to expect and continued smiling as Bucky drew the red circles. 

Steve wondered if there was deeper meaning to this, if it symbolised something, or if Bucky just wanted to paint something on the blank wall. It definitely meant something that he'd remembered the design of the shield. 

"Looks good, Buck," he said. The expression on Bucky's face was deeply satisfied, but he wasn't done yet. He pulled the lid of the white paint. "Why do you need that? The white bits are already white." 

But Bucky didn't intend to paint the wall this time. He dipped a paintbrush in the white paint and started to paint over the red star on his arm. It was obviously difficult and he had to strain his arm around trying to reach, craning his neck to see what he was doing. 

"Do you want me to?" Steve started to ask. He didn't need to finish the question because Bucky held the paintbrush out to him. Bucky stood perfectly still as Steve painted white over the red star on his arm. Bucky didn't move as Steve went for the blue paint to carry on the design. 

"This probably won't last very well," Steve said. "You probably need some fancy paint to go on metal." He was about to suggest talking to Stark, to see if he had more of whatever he used to colour his Iron Man suits, but Bucky had other ideas. 

"You'll just to have repaint it when it starts to chip," Bucky said. He sounded perfectly calm about this idea, and Steve was struck by the awareness that it meant Bucky intended to stick around. Holes in the wall aside, Bucky wasn't trying to run away from him. 

"As many times as you need," Steve promised, which earned him a soft smile. Steve found himself wanting to kiss that smile and pushed the thought away. There was no point in thinking that. No way he could do anything with Bucky the way he was now. No way Bucky would ever want to when he froze every time Steve touched his skin. He didn't seem to mind Steve touching the metal arm, but how much could he even feel through that? 

"There you go," Steve said a little while later, finishing off the last red circle. Bucky looked down at the shield painted on his shoulder. 

"Thank you, Steve." 

"You're welcome." 

Steve put the lids on the pain tins and washed the brushes, but when he returned to the living area, Bucky was still standing there, staring at his arm. Steve let him for a few minutes, but it looked like Bucky would stand there forever unless something happened to nudge him out of his statue state. 

"What do you want to do now?" Steve asked. 

Bucky looked at him then. The soft smile from earlier seemed to have gone and he looked strangely calm, almost blank. "You tell me." 

"There are a lot of options. We could play another game, or we could watch something. I have a long list of TV show and films people keep telling me I need to see. We could read for a bit. I could open up the gym if you want exercise." He kept making suggestions, hoping something would spark a sign of interest, but Bucky just stood there, waiting for Steve to make a decision. 

"What sounds good?" Steve prompted. 

"Whatever you want to do," Bucky said. "You tell me what to do. You're my captor." 

And there was the emotional whiplash again. The enjoyment of earlier, the smile at seeing Bucky smile, the thrill at seeing Bucky paint the shield sign, all of that vanished as he heard those words. Steve winced at the sound of them. 

"I'm your friend," he said. 

Bucky stared at him. "You're my captor." 

It was hard for Steve to argue with that, given the locks on the door and the fact that Steve could order electric shocks or knock-out gas at a moment's notice, but it was still not how he wanted Bucky to think of this. 

"Maybe for now," he said. 

Bucky's whole body seemed to slump, as though Steve had just given him some terrible news. Did Bucky think Steve meant to leave? Or bring someone else in? 

"I just meant that you won't have to be a prisoner forever," Steve said. "Once you're better, and we can convince people you're not dangerous, you can be a free person again. It might take a little while, but you'll get there." 

His words didn't seem to be giving Bucky any comfort. He tried again, with a few variations about how he wanted to help Bucky get away from what had been done to him, but Bucky kept looking despondent. When he couldn't think of anything else to say that might get his point across, he suggested watching a movie. Bucky moved to the couch and sat there without a word, refusing to give any indication of preferences. Steve was starting to regret painting his shield on Bucky's arm if it caused a reaction like this, if it made Bucky feel like Steve owned him now. 

He tried to talk through his discomfort. He brought up the menus for the movie selection, explaining to Bucky as he skimmed through them how just about everyone he met had some suggestion for something he needed to watch or research or read to help him catch up with everything he'd missed over the last several decades. He found a title he recognised from his list. 

"I was told to watch this one soon," he said, "before I've seen too much newer stuff to be bowled away by the special effects. What do you think?" 

Bucky didn't reply, so Steve took that as a yes and started the movie. He wasn't sure if he'd made the right choice when he realised just how much fighting and shooting the movie involved, but Bucky didn't seem to mind that. He didn't seem to mind people having their brains messed with and being made to see illusions either. Steve kept glancing sideways at Bucky, but he seemed almost bored. He certainly wasn't showing the interest he had in the footage from the Howling Commandos. Steve almost considered stopping the movie at several points, but he wasn't sure sitting around in awkward silence would be any better. 

"What did you think?" Steve asked, once the leader had been rescued and the hero had his awakening at the one. 

"Everyone was very wasteful of ammunition." 

Steve gave a little snort of amusement before he thought to wonder if that comment had been meant seriously, but it was drew that a vast number of bullets had been fired in the story without hitting anything but walls. 

"Maybe we should watch something with a little less shooting next," he suggested. Yet again, Bucky expressed no opinion on the matter, which was disheartening. Steve tried not to feel too disappointed in that and found something to watch that had been described to him as 'like watching a hug', so he and Bucky started watching a show about British people baking cakes, cookies, and bread. It was supposed to be a competition but the people on the show seemed to frequently forget they were supposed to be competing, happy to congratulate each other over successes or help each other out when things went wrong. It was something comfortable to watch though and Steve couldn't imagine that there would be any unpleasant memories associated with the events transpiring on screen. 

At least some part of Bucky seemed to be interested in all the food on display, because his stomach growled loudly partway through the third episode. 

"I guess that's a sign we should get some dinner," Steve said. There wasn't a massive amount in the kitchen and Steve didn't want to eat up all of Bucky's supplies. Besides, his own skills with cooking were nothing special. "Jarvis, can you order some food in for us?" 

"Certainly. Do you have a preference for style or cuisine?" 

Steve glanced at Bucky, who didn't seem to care. 

"Something with a lot of variety," Steve suggested, because maybe Bucky would make more choices when he saw the options in front of him, and variety was something he'd been sorely lacking. 

"I can order a selection of dishes from a Chinese restaurant that is one of Mr Stark's favourites." 

"That would be great, Jarvis." 

It saved either of them having to make any decisions right now. Steve restarted the episode they'd been watching and for a while the closest thing to drama they had to experience was one of the contestants getting upset because her pie came out of the oven with the pastry soggy underneath. 

The episode finished and Steve was wondering what to do next when Jarvis announced that the food had arrived. Had he timed the food to line up to the episode's end deliberately? 

Without waiting for instructions, Bucky stood and walked into the kitchen, stopping just on the other side of the doorway so that Jarvis could make the living room floor red. Steve started towards the main door, but it was already opening from the outside. Rumlow walked in, a large take-out bag in hand. He looked over to where Bucky stood in the kitchen doorway, staring with an expression of shock and terror on his face. 

"Soldier," Rumlow said.


	22. Chapter 22

There was a handler in his cell. The asset didn't know the man's name but he'd seen him before, been assigned to missions led by him twice. He knew that this man worked for Hydra and that he was authorised to give orders to the asset. If this man gave him a gun and told him who to shoot, the asset would have to obey. 

For a moment, the asset felt a rush of joy because it meant that Steve was a handler and not a captor, it meant the asset didn't have to escape from him. But then the fear struck. What if the handler wasn't really working with Steve? What if he'd come to help the asset escape from Steve? What if he ordered the asset to fight Steve? 

The asset had to obey any order from a handler. That was a fact of reality, as certain as gravity. If the handler gave the asset a gun and told him to shoot Steve, the asset would be expected to obey. 

"Soldier," the handler said, and the asset stood to attention, even as terror flooded his entire being. He waited, silent, for the orders that could destroy everything. All his attention was locked on the handler, so he barely heard Steve reprimand the man for calling the asset soldier instead of James. He only registered it when the handler shot a quick apology to Steve. An apology the asset didn't dare hope was genuine. 

"Bucky, this is Brock Rumlow, he's part of the security team here. Rumlow, this is James." 

"I've heard a lot about you," the handler, Rumlow, said. It sounded like a threat. Had he heard that the asset had been talking to a captor and he planned to punish him for it? Or perhaps he meant to punish the asset for not talking to Steve, not responding to someone who was another handler. Neither of those thoughts were as terrifying as the other thought: what if the handler made him hurt Steve? 

The asset wanted to clamp his hands over his ears to block out any words that the handler might say, but he wasn't allowed to refuse orders. He wasn't allowed to run away. All he was allowed to do was stand there and wait to be told what to do, even if what he was told to do was terrible. He was an asset. He existed to obey orders, to kill on command. He was a weapon to be pointed at a target, and it wasn't for him to decide who should be a target. 

He just hoped that the target wouldn't turn out to be Steve, even though he knew he wasn't allowed to hope. He wasn't allowed to have opinions about his missions. He would be punished for even thinking these things. 

"Bucky? Is everything alright?" Steve was looking at him, talking softly, but the asset couldn't take his eyes off the handler, off the man who could command him to do anything. 

"Maybe you should go," Steve told the handler. He took the bag of food from him. 

"Sure thing, Cap. I'll be watching for the security office." 

The asset knew that those words were meant for him, a promise that a handler was observing his behaviour. The asset had to follow the rules or there would be punishments. The asset had to obey protocols, obey any instruction he was given, or there would be punishment. There would be punishment anyway for daring to speak to Steve, daring to show emotion, daring to pretend to be human. When the handler came for him, there would be pain worse than the electric shocks from the floor that had so distressed Steve. The asset just hoped Steve wouldn't be here to see it, that the handler would come for him when the asset was alone. 

He hoped that desperately, even though he knew there would be more punishment for daring to hope. 

The handler walked to the door and pressed his hand to the palm scanner. The door recognised him, authorised him to come and go. This was a message too. The handler was making it clear that he had access to the asset and there was nothing the asset could do about it. 

When the door closed behind the handler, the asset remained where he was, frozen, staring after him. 

"Bucky?" Steve approached slowly, frowning at the asset with concern written all over his face. "What's wrong, Buck?" 

He didn't understand. He didn't know the danger he was in. The asset knew then that Steve had no idea that the handler was a handler. The asset's fears that Steve would turn out to be one of them were unfounded. His greater fear that the handlers would treat Steve as an enemy remained. His fear that he would be used against Steve grew like an icy core at the centre of his being, colder than the storage tube. 

He didn't know what he could do. He couldn't warn Steve because the handler would be watching. He couldn't break protocols. He couldn't tell Steve to kill the handler because his duty was to protect his handlers unless it jeopardised a mission order given by a higher authority. 

"It's just me here now, Bucky. You're safe." Steve's words rang in the asset's ears but they weren't true. The asset was never safe, especially not if a handler was watching him from somewhere close by. Still, he thought that if Steve wrapped his arms around the asset and hugged him close, he might be able to believe that lie for a few moments. He wanted that comfort so badly, but Steve kept his distance, looking at him like he was a wild animal who might pounce on him. Like he was a threat. 

Steve was right to be afraid of him. The asset wanted to promise that he would never hurt Steve, but all it would take was one word from the handler and the asset would be forced to obey. 

"How about we sit down and eat?" Steve said. It wasn't an order but it was. Should the asset obey? A handler was watching. If the asset was seen not to obey orders, that would mean punishment but if the asset obeyed the wrong person, that would mean punishment. Everything meant punishment and the asset didn't know what he ought to do. 

He had felt so sure when he'd marked his arm with Steve's symbol, so certain that he was giving a sign that he belonged to Steve now, his prisoner, his asset. But that wasn't right. The asset didn't get to choose who owned him. The asset didn't get to choose who fired him and who picked the targets. Maybe that was why the handler had come in here, to remind him of who he was meant to obey. Steve was his captor but not his handler. The mark on his arm was just paint, paint that would flake away because it wasn't meant for this surface. The asset had meant to pretend to be human for Steve, but for a while there he had been pretending for himself. He had played chess and painted the wall and had pretended to be a person but it wasn't true. He was a weapon. 

He was a weapon for others to aim at a chosen target. 

He shouldn't let himself forget again because it hurt more to remember it. 

"Bucky, you have to eat." Steve's voice was gentle, coaxing. 

Steve didn't understand. He was standing in the room with a deadly weapon, one that could be aimed at him at any moment, and he didn't seem to know it. The asset couldn't warn him. The asset wanted to warn him, wanted to keep him safe. 

"Please, Buck. Let's sit down and eat. You need to eat." 

He needed to eat. He was allowed to meet his needs, to keep his strength up. It wouldn't be breaking protocol and it would make Steve happy. It was acceptable. The asset moved to the table. 

Steve had already set plates out and arranged the containers of food between them. The asset hadn't even noticed him doing that, he'd been so wrapped up in his own thoughts, his own fears. 

The asset sat at the place Steve had indicated to him. He wondered if this action would mean a punishment from the handler later, but Steve seemed relieved that he was responding, so the punishment would almost be worth it. Almost. 

"It looks like we have a lot of different options," Steve said. "Where do you want to start?" 

The asset had been hungry, but now the cold fear inside him seemed to be driving everything else out. Still, he had to eat or Steve would be upset, and his handler would probably be angry that he wasn't keeping in physical condition to fight. The asset spooned a portion from the nearest container onto his plate and began to eat. On the first bite of the mixed of fried meat and some red vegetable, he wondered if this was already the punishment, if the burning was a poison that would prevent him from breaking protocol any more than he already had. 

But he realised it was just the dish, flavoured with chilies. The burning sensation was part of the design for some reason. He ate the food on his plate, enduring the pain without comment. 

Steve, on the other hand, gasped out and reached for his water. "That's a bit intense for me." 

He pushed the rest of that dish to the side of his plate and tried something else instead. The asset watched him do so. 

"You don't have to eat something if you don't like it. There's plenty of variety and far too much quantity here, so just eat what you like. I know my ma would give us hell for not clearing out plates and being grateful, but we're just trying things out and it's alright to try something and decide you don't like it." 

The asset considered this and then reached for another dish. He found that the chili meat was better when eaten with the rice, because it diluted the strength of the chili somewhat. The green vegetables in the brown sauce were nice and he liked the orange, tangy dish. He couldn't identify most of the things he was eating, but he sampled them all to determine which he had a preference for. He wasn't supposed to have a preference. The handler might punish him for that too, for doing more than just eating whatever was put in front of him. 

When perhaps half of the food was eaten, the asset felt no inclination to eat more, and it seemed Steve felt the same way. He left a couple of small packets on the table and put the rest of the food into the fridge. The asset put the plates into the dishwasher because it didn't seem right that only Steve be clearing up. Then they sat down again and Steve tore open one of the little packets to reveal a strangely shaped cookie, which he broke into pieces and extracted a piece of paper from. 

Steve frowned at the paper. "This looks like Russian. Why would a Chinese restaurant have Russian fortune cookies?" 

With a shrug, he dropped the slip of paper on the table and got on with eating the cookie fragments. The asset picked up the paper, thinking that he might translate for Steve if he wanted to know what was written on the paper. 

The words were in Russian. The first word was 'soldat'. It was an instruction to the asset, an order smuggled in with the food by a handler and the asset had to obey a handler's orders in whatever form they came. The handler was watching. If the asset didn't obey promptly, there would be consequences. There would be punishment. Disobedience was unthinkable. 

But... it was Steve. 

Some part of him protested even as he stood. 

"Bucky, what's wrong?" Steve said, turning towards him. His face met the asset's fist coming the opposite direction.


	23. Chapter 23

Pain tore through the asset from the soles of his feet. He hit the floor even as Steve did. Steve was sent sprawling by the force of the punch, the asset by the electricity making his own muscles out of his control. The asset twitched helplessly on the floor as the current coursed through him, but at least he couldn't hurt Steve anymore. 

"Jarvis, stop." 

The electricity stopped. The asset's only reaction was to curl in on himself, lying on his side on the kitchen floor. Sobs tore through his body, not from the pain but from what he'd just done. He'd hurt Steve. He'd hit Steve. This was not acceptable. Steve would hate him now. Steve wouldn't want to see him now. This was the worst thing he could possibly have done. He had obeyed orders, but at what cost? 

"Bucky, why did you do that?" 

The asset waited for more pain, for punishment, whether from Steve for the punch or from the handler for daring to use his right hand, his human hand, for making the blow less painful than it might otherwise have been. The asset brought his arms over his head and buried his face in them so that he didn't have to see Steve's face. He didn't want to see Steve looking at him with anger or hate. 

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. Technically he was giving information to his captor by revealing his regret, but telling Steve he was sorry was more important than following protocol. The asset hadn't realised anything was more important than following protocol, that anything could be, but the need to apologise to Steve was like a force in his lungs, making it impossible to breathe until he admitted his sorrow. 

"It's OK, Buck. I'm not angry. I just want to understand." 

The asset curled tighter in on himself. The sadness in Steve's voice was worse than any anger could ever be. The asset had hurt Steve. He deserved whatever punishment was given. Pain would almost be a relief, an easing of the guilt in a way that Steve's sadness could never provide. 

"Perhaps I can shed some light on the situation, Captain," Jarvis said. "The text on the fortune cookie slip, when translated into English, would read 'Soldier, punch the captain in the face'." 

"You punched me because that's what the fortune cookie said?" 

"I'm sorry." The asset tried to shrink. He wanted to make himself smaller, small enough to evade Steve's eyes, small enough to disappear. If he disappeared, Steve wouldn't be in danger from him. 

"It's alright, Bucky, I don't blame you. Are you alright?" 

"I hurt you." That was all the answer that was needed to the question of whether or not he was alright. He could never be alright with hurting Steve. 

"It's barely a bruise. I'll be fine. But will you be?" 

The asset couldn't answer that. He didn't know if he would be fine because he didn't know what other orders would come. If the handler came back in here and told him to kill Steve, he would have to obey and that would make him very much not fine. He murmured another apology into his arms. 

"Bucky, I need you to get up. Can you do that?" 

The asset didn't move. 

"Buck, please. Can you stand?" 

The asset closed his eyes and tried not to exist. 

"Soldier! On your feet!" 

The asset was upright and standing at attention before he could be surprised by the sharpness of Steve's tone. He had responded to the order as if it were given by a handler, even though Steve wasn't one. Some part of him reacted as though he were authorised to give orders. He would probably be punished for this too when the handler came back. 

Steve reached out a hand towards him and the asset flinched back. That would earn another punishment. But he saw the moment of impact of his fist against Steve's jaw. He could see the red mark of a forming bruise. He was dangerous and Steve needed to remember that. Steve needed to stay away from him before he got hurt again. 

"OK, Buck, I won't touch you, but I need you to go to the bedroom now." 

Was that where punishment would be administered? Did Steve want him to be near the bathroom so he could hose away the blood? 

The asset started moving because he had already hurt Steve once. He didn't want to upset him by not complying. He walked into the bedroom. Steve followed, but lingered in the doorway. 

"I need you to wait here, Buck. It will be alright, but I need to sort some things. I'll be back soon. OK?" 

The asset nodded. Of course Steve needed to make arrangements for the punishment. 

"You'll be OK, Buck, I promise. I'll make sure you're OK." 

Steve stepped back and the door between the bedroom and living room slid closed, sealing with a hiss. The asset was alone. Access to the rest of the cell was restricted by more than just the floor panels, but perhaps that was for the best. If the asset were safely sealed in here, he would be unable to hurt Steve further. 

The asset lay down on the bed and curled himself into that tight ball. When he closed his eyes, he saw his fist meeting Steve's face. He had obeyed the order because that was what he was made to do, but for the first time, the asset wished he was made differently. He wished he didn't have to obey if it meant he wouldn't have to hurt Steve again. 

***

Steve stormed into the security office. 

"What the hell?" he demanded of the room in general. "How the hell did an order to attack me get into the dinner order?" 

Several pairs of eyes flicked towards a young guy in the corner, who held up his hands in a gesture like surrender. "I just grabbed the food from the delivery guy, I swear." 

"I've already placed a call to Shield," Rumlow said. "They're sending a team to question the delivery guy and check out the restaurant, but I doubt anyone would go to all the trouble of infiltrating a Chinese restaurant on the off-chance that you might order food from it. Maybe someone flagged the delivery guy down outside the tower and paid him off to sneak the fortune cookies in, but it's more likely that we'll turn up that message hidden in items at half the restaurants in Manhattan to increase the chances of it slipping through the security here." 

"How would they even know that we'd order take out?" 

"It's not that big of a leap, Cap," Rumlow said. "If it got out somehow that you moved him here to be comfortable, it's a fair bet you would want to give him better food. I won't be surprised if the Shield investigation team find that message written in pizza boxes and on takeout bags for half the restaurants within a few minutes of the tower." 

"But why that message?" Steve asked. "Why tell Bucky to punch me?" 

"A test?" 

That made sense. The message had been a test to see if whoever had once controlled Bucky could get a message through their security, and maybe a test to see if the order would be obeyed. Maybe that was why the face was chosen as a target. The bruise would be gone by tomorrow given Steve's advanced rate of healing, but right now his cheek was sore and probably interesting shades of purple. If someone was watching the entrance to the tower, they would see the mark on Steve's face as he walked out. 

"Have your security team do a patrol of anywhere that has a line of sight on the tower's main entrance," Steve said. 

"You've got it, Cap." 

"And talk to Stark. See if anyone has tried to get into the security footage." 

"On it." 

"From this point on, no writing gets through those doors without being thoroughly checked for hidden messages. I don't care if it's a receipt or on the side of a bag." 

He would have to be careful about any new books they purchased for Bucky's library. 

"It's interesting though," Rumlow said. 

"What is?" 

"When he was making holes in the walls, he used his left hand. It's clear he can get more power out of that thing than a normal arm, but when he punched you, he used his right hand." 

"You think that was deliberate? He was trying to make it hurt less?" 

"That would be my guess. He didn't want to hurt you but he felt compelled to obey the order, so he compromised." 

"So what does this mean for him? That his brainwashing or whatever they did to him is breaking down?" 

"I'm no psychologist, but that's what it looks like to me," Rumlow said. "Either his conditioning is starting to fail because it's been too long since the other guys had direct control over him, or there's something about you that's getting through to him. Or both." 

"That's good news then." 

Rumlow shrugged. "Whoever sent that note still has enough control over him to get him to do something he obviously hated. He's a long way from out of the woods." 

"So we'll make sure they don't get anywhere near him again," Steve said, which made Rumlow smile a little as he nodded. Rumlow got on with the work Steve had assigned him, but Steve had another task to do. He needed to figure out why Bucky had obeyed the instruction in the fortune cookie. 

***

The asset heard the outer door opening. He heard the door to his bedroom opening a minute later, but he didn't move. He stayed where he was, curled up on the bed, hiding his face in his arms as if that could hide him from the future. He didn't know whether he hoped it was Steve back or if he hoped it was someone else, so that Steve would be safe from him. 

"Bucky," Steve said, voice soft and gentle. "Are you OK to get up? I want to do a little test." 

So that was how it would be. The asset had known Steve was lying when he'd closed the door to the room with the machines. He'd known that sooner or later, he would be taken inside there for testing. He accepted it. He just wished it wasn't Steve doing it to him. The test would hurt far more if it was being done by Steve. 

The asset stood and walked from the bedroom. As he passed Steve, he said, "You should send someone else to do it." 

"Why?" 

"You don't like seeing me get hurt." The asset went to the door to the testing room. He opened the door, but the floor beyond was still red, so he waited for Steve to give the order. 

"No!" Steve hurried to Bucky's side, not letting their bodies touch but reaching round him to pull the door shut. "It's not that sort of test, and even if it was, it wouldn't hurt you. I'm sorry. I... I should have used a better word. Let's just go to the couch." 

Steve went and sat down and he turned back to the asset, waiting for him to do the same. The asset followed. He perched on the other end of the couch, waiting for whatever test this was to begin, bracing himself for the inevitable pain. Steve reached into a pocket and held out a small pile of paper slips. The asset took them. He studied the first of them, a little square of paper with text written in neat English. 'Turn in a circle three times.' 

The asset frowned at Steve, and at the paper. Was this meant to be an order? Did Steve expect him to follow it? 

Steve wasn't a handler. The asset didn't have to follow his orders. He wasn't sure what he was meant to do, aware that the handler was probably watching and would know what he did. Was it better to be seen to follow orders or not follow them? The asset didn't have an answer to that question so he considered another question: which would Steve prefer? Steve probably wanted him to follow the order so, since either option was equally likely to lead to punishment, the asset decided in favour of that. 

The asset stood up and turned in a circle three times. 

Steve did his best to keep his face blank, but his lips pressed against each other slightly more tightly. That didn't seem like a good sign. The asset wondered briefly about attempting the action again, in case he had performed it badly, but he decided in favour of setting the piece of paper aside and looking at the next. 

'Put a hand on your head and count backwards from ten.' The asset put a hand on his head and counted backwards from ten. With each number, the hard line of Steve's lips seemed to press together even more. He didn't seem happy that the asset was obeying him. 

The asset set the instruction aside and looked at the next one. 'Punch Steve in the face.' 

The slip of paper was already crushed into a crumpled ball in the asset's fist before he'd even decided not to obey. He didn't have to obey Steve's orders. He wasn't going to obey an order to hurt him, not so soon after hurting him last time. The asset met Steve's gaze with a glare and dropped the crumpled order onto the floor. 

Still Steve said nothing, but the asset though the tension eased in his shoulders slightly. 

The next order was to stand on one foot for five seconds. The asset considered this one. There was no harm in obeying but the asset was no longer so sure that was what Steve wanted. In the end, the asset decided in favour of obeying. Obeying was always the least painful option. He set this piece of paper aside with the others and looked at the next. 

'Pinch your arm so that it hurts.' A pinch would be a minor hurt, would cause no lasting injury, but still the asset knew that Steve didn't want him hurt. Even after earlier and the punch, the asset believed that Steve wouldn't want him hurt. Which meant that Steve wanted him to disobey. The asset looked Steve directly in the eye as he set the paper aside, unobeyed. The twitch of a smile on Steve's lips was only there for an instant, but it was long enough for the asset to notice, long enough to confirm that this was the correct path. 

The asset read the next ridiculous orders and set them aside. Then he reached 'Punch the Captain in the face' and that one he crumpled up and dropped on the floor. He knew that Steve was the captain. He wasn't sure if Steve had told him he was the captain, or if he'd just worked that out from the videos and from context, or if there was some lingering knowledge in his mind. All he knew was that the order meant Steve and he wasn't going to punch Steve again. Not unless he had no choice. 

The next collection of slips were the same instructions as before, but this time addressed to 'Soldier'. The asset felt a surprising satisfaction at setting those aside or crumpling them up. Steve seemed to grow more relaxed with every order the asset ignored. 

After those instructions came another repeat, but this time translated into Russian. The asset gave the orders the same treatment. He was expecting it when he saw the final set of orders, each written in Russian and each addressed to 'Soldat'. The asset set the first orders aside without breaking eye contact for longer than was necessary to check the words on the paper. When he reached the order about punching Steve in the face, the asset tore the paper into smaller and smaller pieces until he could barely hold on to them, then he threw the shower of fragments into Steve's face like they were confetti. 

Steve burst into a grin. "I guess that answers that question." 

The asset didn't have to obey Steve's orders and now they both knew it, but the handler might come in again and those orders he would have to obey. That was another matter entirely and one the asset didn't know how to deal with. He wasn't in a position where he could escape the handler or avoid hearing whatever orders he gave him. Steve might be more relaxed now than earlier, but the asset couldn't be.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter should probably come with a self-harm warning because Bucky does something he knows is going to hurt.

Fury insisted that Steve shouldn't go into a Chinese restaurant and start interrogating the staff about how one of them had managed to sneak a secret message to Bucky into a meal. Unfortunately, Stark agreed with Fury that it would be a bad idea because he told Jarvis not to tell Steve which restaurant they'd ordered from. Steve could have walked around Manhattan until he found a restaurant with a bunch of Shield vehicles parked outside, but by that point, he'd cooled off enough to understand why it was a bad idea to start harassing restaurant workers who probably weren't responsible for the message, if Rumlow's theory was correct.

So Steve left Fury and the security team to their jobs and tested out Bucky's response to various orders instead. It was a worrying experience at first, as Bucky calmly performed each ridiculous action written on the paper without any sign that he had free will to choose for himself when presented with instructions, but then he go to the one about hurting Steve and his reaction was a very definite refusal. It was heartening to see him refuse the orders from that point on, but the whole experience just left Steve with more questions. If Bucky could refuse orders, even those in Russian addressed to Soldier, then why had he hit Steve before? Unless he'd just reacted to the message then out of instinct or habit, and now he'd thought about it and had decided better. If that was the case, then they wouldn't need to worry about other orders, because Bucky knew he didn't have to obey. 

Unless there was something more going on. Steve couldn't help feeling like he was missing something. The whole plan of the secret message in the takeout seemed ridiculous. Even if it was a test, it didn't have a clear purpose beyond that. 

He wasn't going to figure out anything by watching Bucky tear up order papers though. 

"I think that's enough for today," Steve said. "You've had a stressful evening. You should get some sleep. I'll see you tomorrow." 

"You could stay," Bucky said. "The bed is big enough for two." 

Steve suspected a pink flush was rising on his face and tried not to think about the implications he was sure Bucky hadn't meant. 

"I don't think that's a good idea," he said. There were so many potential dangers with the situation, and he was considerably less worried about Bucky hurting him than he was about accidentally harassing Bucky in his sleep. 

"There's another bed," Bucky said, and Steve wondered why he hadn't made that suggestion first. 

"Maybe tomorrow night." Steve knew he wouldn't be sleeping any time soon. He needed to look into the message and had to find out what Fury had learned. If the investigation at the restaurant had found a suspect, he would want to be a witness to any interrogation. If Stark's review of the security footage uncovered anything, Steve had to be able to respond. He couldn't do any of that inside this cell, but if the problem was sorted tomorrow then he would be alright to stay over. If nothing else, if he stayed closer, he would be better able to keep a watch on Bucky. 

Bucky nodded his understanding, but there was a glum disappointment on his face that made Steve think of the way he'd looked when his Ma told them they had played enough for one day. Steve couldn't help a little smile at that, despite everything else that had happened today. When he'd arranged this move, he'd worried that he might overwhelm Bucky with too much contact after so long on his own, and he'd wanted to take things slowly, be cautious about giving him a balance between socialising and quiet, but it seemed he'd erred too far on the side of caution with that one. He made the decision then that he would bring an overnight bag when he came tomorrow and he would sleep in this cell with Bucky. Hell, he'd bring enough clothes and things for a month, because it was what Bucky clearly wanted, but for now, there were a lot of questions that needed answering. There were questions that needed answering and he couldn't be coming and going through the night if something turned up about the fortune cookie message. He wanted to keep Bucky out of that investigation for his own protection. 

"I'll see you in the morning," he said. "Goodnight, Bucky." 

"Goodnight, Steve. I'm sorry about punching you." 

"It's alright. I don't blame you." 

Bucky walked into the bedroom and stood at the edge of the green carpet to watch Steve leave. Steve almost changed his mind right then, but he gave Bucky a little wave and then let him himself out. 

In the control room, he demanded an update on the situation. 

The security patrols around the Tower hadn't found anything, but there were a massive number of skyscrapers with a ridiculous number of windows overlooking the entrance, and most of them were privately owned. Shield security teams couldn't just burst in because one of them might contain a surveillance team. Steve wondered if he'd have better success putting on his Captain America uniform, knocking on the doors, and smiling at people. But that would take too long and there was every chance that any enemy team had already hidden their operation as soon as the Shield teams started moving. 

The restaurant search had been more successful, according to Rumlow's report. Apparently Rumlow had sent a guy called Agent Sitwell in to check out the place discretely and Fury had insisted on sending another man, an Agent Ward, in as well, supposedly in case of danger but Steve suspected he'd wanted verification of any discoveries. They'd reported back that there had been three boxes of the fake fortune cookies. Sitwell also reported that there had been a middle aged woman demanding that her entire meal be free because she couldn't read what was on her fortune cookie. 

"Ward made the judgement call not to bring the restaurant staff in for full questioning and Sitwell agreed," Rumlow said. "He says, from their reactions, that he doesn't think any of them had anything to do with the cookies being there. According to their inventory system, there should have been two boxes of fortune cookies and instead there were five, so it looks like someone just walked into the kitchen and put some boxes with the hidden order on top of what was already there and no one noticed." 

If the staff were busy, it was entirely plausible that they wouldn't notice having too much stock of something like that. Steve supposed it was reassuring that whoever was after Bucky had to go for such a scattergun approach. A part of him had been concerned that maybe one of Rumlow's team was compromised, or that there was a leak in information from Jarvis somehow, and their enemies had used that to substitute a fake order, but that was seeming less likely. It was still possible that someone inside the Tower had snuck the message in and that the fortune cookies at the shop were a decoy, or that the reports from the agents were false, but with each additional person, the chances became smaller. 

It was possible that Shield had a spy in their ranks. Given the nature of their organisation, it was even likely that there was a spy somewhere. But that spy happening to get assigned to this duty was less likely, and the whole situation with the secret messages would mean that Ward, Sitwell, and someone on Rumlow's team were all compromised. Given that Ward and Sitwell were assigned by different people, the only way that it was possible that they were both also compromised was if a large portion of Shield were secretly working for whatever bad guys wanted Bucky. That would imply a huge conspiracy. One loan spy on the security team, Steve could believe, but a whole huge conspiracy was another matter. 

He didn't dismiss the idea altogether, but there didn't seem to be anything untoward on the security footage. Only Rumlow and the agent who'd picked up the order at the door had had the slightest opportunity to put anything in the bag, and there was no moment on the security feed that Steve could spot, even after three viewings. There might have been a mixture of sleight of hand combined with perfect knowledge of the security camera feeds, but for now it seemed that the more plausible explanation was that the information was correct and that the point of compromise was the restaurant. If their enemies were resorting to a trick like this, relying on strangers to accidentally deliver their message, it meant they didn't have a better way inside. As long as they were careful and prevented this happening again, Bucky would be safe. Still, Steve asked Stark to check the security footage a third time, just in case. 

A call came in while Steve was standing in the security office with them. Rumlow answered, "Rumlow. You're on speakerphone with Cap." 

"Captain Rogers," the voice over the phone said. "Agent Grant Ward, it's an honour." 

"Thank you, agent. Do you have another report for us?" 

"What I have is a menu for a pizza restaurant that looks virtually identical to their normal menus, only this one has a sentence in Russian under the phone number to call to order take-out." 

So Rumlow was right. Their enemies had made an educated guess that they were likely to order food, but hadn't known where they would order it from, so they'd taken a chance with spreading their message widely. 

"When I asked the owner about it," Ward continued, "he started cursing out the printing company in Italian for incompetence. Do you want me to bring him in so you can question him?" 

Steve thought of terrifying some poor business owner just because he was angry that someone had reached Bucky. Despite his desire earlier to rush off and question everyone involved, he could accept now why that would be a terrible idea. 

"No," he said. "See if you can get security footage from all of the restaurants that have the hidden messages. Maybe we can find out something about who planted the messages." 

"Yes, sir." 

They ended the call and Steve dragged a hand over his face. This was good news, he supposed, but it still left him feeling on edge. Someone had managed to get an order to Bucky that he'd obeyed despite obviously hating it. There were still so many questions Steve had about it and he still felt like he was missing a key piece of information that would make all of this make sense. 

"You look exhausted," Rumlow said. "You should get some rest. We'll handle things at this end." 

Steve didn't want to just leave, but he wasn't the best person to be leading the investigation right now. He was too emotionally compromised and even he could realise that. So he agreed, but not before saying, "Call me the second Ward or anyone else uncovers something useful. I don't care what time it is." 

On the way out, he said quietly to Stark, "Can you get Jarvis to watch the security team too?" 

"Way ahead of you, Cap. He'll send out an alert to both of us if anyone goes near that door before you get back." 

***

The asset didn't sleep well. He dreamed about punching Steve. He dreamed about punching other people. He dreamed about punching something so hard with his metal fist that his skull cracked and brain matter got caught between the plates of his fingers. He dreamed that the brain matter was Steve's. 

As he lay awake, sweating in the darkness between the dreams, he wasn't sure which images were conjured up from his mind and which were fragments of memories. Had he ever punched someone that hard? It seemed plausible. But who? And did they deserve it? 

That question was a strange one, one that the asset wasn't qualified to answer. The handlers gave the orders. The commanders picked the targets. The asset only obeyed and killed the targets he was aimed at. It wasn't for the asset to decide if someone should or shouldn't be a target. But still the thought had drifted out of the darkness and bounced around his mind between the images of death. 

Would Steve have thought those targets deserved it? The asset thought of Howard Stark, who had been Steve's friend and who invented better fondue forks and something to keep soldiers warm in the cold and flying cars. Steve wouldn't have wanted Howard Stark to die but the asset had killed him anyway. 

The asset didn't want to be Steve's enemy. He didn't want to be given orders to attack Steve. 

He knew this was a malfunction. He wasn't supposed to want anything. He obeyed orders because they were orders and that was what they were for. Want didn't come into it. Something was broken inside him, but he didn't want this something to be fixed, because if they fixed it, he wouldn't care about protecting Steve. Protecting Steve was important. It was more important than orders. 

He curled in on himself instinctively at that thought, as though he thought punishment and pain would rain down on him from all sides for daring to think such a thing. There was a handler nearby. If the handler found out he didn't want to follow orders, it would hurt. His punishment would probably hurt a lot anyway, because he'd said sorry to Steve for obeying the order, but if they found out he didn't want to obey orders to hurt Steve, they would put him in the chair and fix his brain. 

They might fix it so he didn't remember Steve at all. 

That thought was terrifying. The asset wanted to carve Steve's name into his flesh so that he couldn't lose it, but he knew the scars would probably heal. If he carved it into the metal of his arm, the technicians would just remove the plating and replace anything he marked. He had nothing permanent. Neither his body nor his mind could be trusted to hold on to Steve, and that meant that they might give him orders to hurt Steve and he wouldn't know not to do it. He might punch Steve hard enough to make his brains leak out and he wouldn't even know it was bad. 

When he fell asleep again, his dream was of fighting Steve and not knowing he should stop. He didn't think Steve would fight him back. Steve would try to be nice to him, and the asset would kill him because he didn't know better. 

The asset stopped trying to sleep after another bad dream and he went into the bathroom and stood below the hot water of the shower. Steve had given him this heat. Steve was good and kind and important. The asset needed a way to remember that. But the asset couldn't leave a message to himself because the handler was probably watching. He would see anything the asset attempted and undo it. If he gave Steve what would make him happy, if he pretended to be human, pretended to be Bucky Barnes, then the handler would see that too and would know that he was malfunctioning. 

He was going to get wiped and they would take Steve away from him. 

The asset stood under the steaming water of the shower for a long time, but he came to no conclusions about his situation that would be helpful. There were no answers to his problems. Whatever outcomes he imagined, whatever actions he considered, all ended up the same way, with him being punished and wiped. 

But if he was going to end up that way anyway, he might as well do what he wanted in this time he had with Steve. He wanted to do something nice for Steve, something to make him happy and to apologise properly for hurting him. 

He left the shower, still thinking about his options, and came up with a plan while he dried and got dressed in clean clothes. Then he went through to the kitchen, which was still left accessible to him despite hurting Steve. 

"Is Steve here yet?" the asset asked. 

"Not yet," Jarvis answered. The asset wondered if Steve was late or if his sense of time was disrupted because of poor sleep. It was possible it was still early. Either way, this gave him time to prepare. He took a few minutes to perform a quick inventory of the contents of the cupboards and fridges and then pulled out a pan from one cupboard and a container of flour from another. 

"The oven and stove are currently disabled," Jarvis told him. "I can't enable it without authorisation from Captain Rogers." 

The asset put the flour and pan away. He got out a packet of cereal along with bowls and milk, and set the table for breakfast. He got the oranges juice out of the fridge and poured two glasses. He found tea bags and heated water, since he was still allowed to do that. He wondered if that was because he had demonstrated use of the kettle the day before and so had proved he could use it safely. He would wait to make the tea until Steve arrived, so it didn't go cold, but if the water had been heated once, it would heat up to the desired temperature more quickly the second time. 

He considered making coffee, but he had an image in his mind of Steve holding a tin mug and making a face of disgust. It was a memory of something that hadn't been in the videos but contained some of the same people. Steve had drunk from the tin cup and then said, "This coffee is a mild form of torture." 

The man with the strange hat had been sitting next to him, clutching a mug of his own between both hands. He'd said, "Who cares what it tastes like? It's hot. I'd drink week old cat's piss right now if it was served hot." 

Steve had replied, "The cat's piss would probably taste better." 

So the asset prepared to make tea for Steve instead of coffee. 

"Is there a way for me to grill bread to make toast?" the asset asked. 

"The toaster is currently disabled." 

"It's very inconsistent security to allow me to use the kettle but not the other appliances. I could easily break the casing of the kettle to extract the heating element but leave it connected to the power source and I would have a crude but effective weapon." 

"If you attempt to destroy the kettle's casing, I will disable it." 

The asset considered. "I could heat up the kettle prior to destroying the casing and the heating element would retain enough heat to be useful as a weapon even after you disable its source of power." 

"A valid point. I believe the settings for the kettle were made when it was believed you would not be in this part of kitchen unsupervised." 

"Then why would the other things be disabled?" 

"A more valid question would be why is the kettle not disabled?" 

"Please don't disable the kettle," the asset said. "I want to make Steve tea." 

"If you desire, I can place an order for hot drinks with a nearby coffee shop," Jarvis said. "I can also place an order for breakfast foods to be delivered." 

"I need to make Steve breakfast. It doesn't count if the food's ordered in." 

The asset wasn't sure why it didn't count, but he was absolutely certain that it didn't. He wanted to do something nice for Steve and that meant he had to do the actions himself, even if most of the equipment in the kitchen was disabled and there weren't any knives sharp enough to cut any fruit harder than the banana. 

There was bread that was already sliced, so he didn't have to worry about a bread knife. The blunt butter knife was sufficient to spread slices with butter and jelly, which he set out on the table next to the bowls for the cereal. He was as prepared as he could be given the limitations of the kitchen equipment. 

But this was no good if Steve didn't arrive. 

The asset was certain now that Steve was late. He had said he would be here and the asset didn't want to believe he would lie, but maybe he would need encouragement to come and see the asset. The asset thought over the last few days, remembering how Steve had come running to him every time he had been hurt or had looked like he might get hurt. 

The asset didn't want to hurt himself and he didn't want to hurt Steve by making him see the asset get hurt, but if he made it look like he was about to do something that would hurt him, Steve might come to stop him. Steve might even put a hand on him again. 

But the asset couldn't make it look like he was deliberately trying to manipulate Steve or he would be punished, so he had to make it look like he was doing something else, something unrelated to Steve. He had to make it look like he was still trying to escape, even though he was sure that this cell was secure. Perhaps another attempt to escape would also appease the handler watching him and lessen whatever punishment he was due for daring to cooperate with Steve. 

The asset considered his options and returned to the living area. One wall held the metal panels behind a patch of red tiles. Simply touching those red tiles would hurt, but it would be too obvious. The asset picked up the beanbags that were scattered over the floor and carried them to that part of the room. He dropped the beanbags on the red panels and watched for some reaction. Nothing happened except Jarvis asking, "What are you attempting to do?" 

The asset didn't answer. He touched the nearest of the beanbags tentatively, but there was enough insulation to prevent the shock of the panels travelling through to his hand. He crawled on his hands and knees across the beanbag path he'd made until he was close to the metal panels and then he studied them in more detail. There was in fact only one panel, a solid sheet of metal made of smaller sheets welded together. The weld points were probably weaknesses in the structure, but not so much that it would be easy to break through without equipment. 

The panel looked like it slid upwards on tracks. The asset crawled back to the green panels, pulling the beanbags with him. There was still no sign of Steve, so he made his beanbag path again, but this time to the edge of the panel, where it met with the wall. He crawled over and inspected the edge. There was perhaps a tiny gap between the metal panel and the wall. The asset wasn't sure it was wide enough to do anything useful with but that wasn't the point. The point was that Steve should have come to him as soon as he started crawling over the red panels. 

Perhaps he'd been somewhere far away and had to be summoned. Perhaps the asset hadn't given him enough time. Perhaps he didn't care. Perhaps he was waiting and the asset hadn't done anything serious enough to merit Steve's return yet. He would have to do something more serious, something that would actually cause hurt instead of just posing a risk of it. 

The asset went to the kitchen and retrieved a butter knife and an oven mitt before returning to his beanbag path and that tiny seam. He placed the oven mitt over his flesh hand to give a little bit of insulation, but he wasn't sure if it would be sufficient. It seemed unlikely, but that meant his plan would work. 

"I would advise against this course of action," Jarvis said. "Please return to an authorised area." 

This would probably hurt. Then Steve would come and put his hands on him. It made sense after all. The asset knew that touch meant pain. It was reasonable to accept that it went the other way too and that pain meant touch. He would get hurt and then Steve would have to come. 

He clutched the knife with the mitted hand and inserted it into the tiny crack where the metal panel went into the wall. 

Pain shot through his arm. His muscles spasmed and he toppled sideways. The knife broke contact with the panel and for the briefest instant there was no pain, then he hit the red floor panels and pain tore through him again, jolts that burned his insides and tore control of his muscles from him. The asset didn't even have enough control to push himself back to the safe area.

"Jarvis," a voice said, and the pain stopped. The asset forced his aching muscles to respond so he could turn to look, but it wasn't Steve standing in the doorway of the cell, saying, "What the hell are you playing at?"


	25. Chapter 25

The asset looked up at what might have been a man in armour or what might have been a humanoid robot. It was a figure that gleamed in red and gold, with a face plate that seemed to be glaring despite the lack of any distinguishable expression. 

"Where's Steve?" the asset asked. 

"You really want Rogers seeing you deliberately get your ass zapped by my security systems again?" the... thing asked. The asset thought it was a person, but it might have been a drone broadcasting a voice from an observation room. It was also possible it was a highly sophisticated AI. After all, Jarvis sounded like a human when he spoke. 

"Where's Steve?" 

The robot thing stared at him. At least, the asset thought it was staring. It was disconcerting to not be able to identify expressions, to not have a clue when an attack would come. 

"That's actually the point, isn't it?" it said. "You figured that if you hurt yourself, Rogers would come running." 

The asset had thought he had been more discrete than that. He kept looking at the robot thing but he didn't give an answer. It wasn't just that he couldn't give information to a captor; he didn't want Steve to know that he was trying to manipulate him. More than that, he didn't want the handler who was probably watching to know how much he wanted Steve, to know how big a weakness this was. If the handler knew that the asset wanted Steve so much, he might order the asset to kill him just for spite, just to control him. The asset was not allowed to have anything just because he wanted it. The asset wasn’t allowed to want. 

"You really think this is necessary?" the robot thing asked. "Captain Obsessive has been in here half the hours he's been awake and the other half he's been busy fighting to keep you safe. That's not enough for you?" 

It wasn't enough. The asset thought of Steve's hand on his shoulder, of his fingers around his wrist. His voice hadn't been enough. His presence wasn't enough. The asset didn't think he would ever get enough. 

"I have analysed their interactions, sir," Jarvis announced, "and the only occasions where Captain Rogers has made physical contact with James have been when James has been hurt." 

The asset felt cold, an icy terror that chilled him more than the tube he was put in between missions. He didn't want these people to see through him so thoroughly, to leave him so exposed. All his weaknesses were on display and the handler could see them as well as anyone. 

"Jesus. You're ridiculous. It didn't occur to you that if you wanted a cuddle from your boyfriend all you had to do was ask him? If you asked for the moon, he'd find a way to get it and drag it here for you. You can just say: 'Steve, I want a hug'. Try it." 

"He's not here to ask. Where is he?" 

"Some meeting with Fury about how that message got snuck in with the Chinese food. Probably busy arguing with half the politicians in DC about how you're not a threat to anyone here and it's safe for them to let you stay even if the message got in." 

"I am a threat," the asset said. It shouldn't count as providing information because it was a fact these people must already know or they wouldn't have built the security measures that they had. 

"Maybe don't tell people that if you want Capsicle to win his arguments about your mental state. And maybe don't get yourself zapped with electricity either if you want to prove you're stable. Come on, get back on the green part before Cap gets back." 

The asset stood cautiously, watching the robot things arms in case it produced weapons. He edged sideways until he was back on the green part of the floor, never once taking his eyes off the robot thing. The robot thing went to where the asset had been and picked up the beanbags one by one, tossing them across the room. The robot thing did all of this without turning its back on the asset either, which made the asset think that there really was a person in there, someone who was concerned about the asset being a threat to him. 

"No more playing floor is lava with my security systems," the robot thing, or the man inside it, said. 

His security systems. 

"You're Tony Stark," the asset said. 

"The one and only." The faceplate of the robot thing slid up into the armour, revealing the human face below. 

The asset flinched back on seeing it, the similarities of features and facial hair bringing to mind the image of Howard Stark's face. This man didn't much look like Howard Stark as he'd been when the asset had killed him, but he still looked too familiar, more like the face of the man who appeared in some of the footage in the videos Steve had shared with him, Howard Stark as Bucky Barnes had known him. 

"Hey, it's OK," Stark said, obviously noticing the flinch. "I'm not going to hurt you." He raised a hand towards the asset and then seemed to think better of it and lowered it. He continued talking, "If nothing else, I think Cap really would kill me." 

The asset didn't think Steve would kill him, because Howard Stark had been his friend. Steve didn't hurt his friends. Only the asset did that. The asset had killed Howard Stark and he'd hit Steve and now Steve wasn't here. Steve had said he was coming back, but he was busy arguing with politicians because of the asset and that wasn't good. The asset knew that Steve didn't like having to talk to politicians. He hoped Steve wouldn't have to talk to them long. 

"When will Steve come back?" he asked. 

He wanted Steve to come back because he wanted Steve, and because he wanted Steve not to have to talk to politicians, and because maybe if Steve came back Tony Stark would leave and then the asset wouldn't have to look at someone whose parents he killed. He wondered what would happen if he asked Tony Stark to leave, but Tony Stark wasn't Steve, he probably wouldn't be kind the way Steve was. He was a captor, an enemy, and would probably punish the asset even if he had to punish the asset in a way that wouldn't physically injure him if he was worried that Steve would kill him. 

"You really do have a one track mind, don't you?" Stark said. "You're just as obsessed as he is. He'll be back... soonish... I guess. He'll be back and you can ask him to hug you or whatever the hell you want." 

"Whatever I want?" The asset wasn't sure how to process this information. Steve had told him he could choose what food to eat, and what books to read, and what to watch on the TV, but there was a big difference between even those massive allowances and being allowed to ask for anything. Anything seemed like a terrifying prospect, too big with possibilities, too broad in scope. He felt panicked with indecisiveness at the very idea of it. 

But Stark continued talking. "Within reason, I guess, and bearing in mind that you're being recorded in here twenty-four/seven, so maybe keep it family-friendly for now." 

The asset wasn't quite sure what he meant by that so he nodded. Nodding seemed like the best way to avoid punishment, and he had probably already done a lot to earn punishments by damaging the walls and floor of this place, even if Tony Stark didn't know what the asset had done in the past. Just because Steve had said he didn't want to hurt the asset didn't mean the others wouldn't punish him, and the asset didn't know whether Stark had sided with the handler or with Steve. Caution was the only appropriate response. 

"So, what do you think of your new home?" Stark asked. 

"It's secure," the asset answered. That wasn't giving away any information Stark didn't already know. He was the one who had made it secure. 

"Obviously. That was the whole point. You want it to be, don't you?" 

The asset felt another rush of fear that this information was stated out loud, when the handler was probably listening. He didn't want the handler to know that he didn't want to escape from Steve. He wanted to shut Stark up before he said something else, but he wasn't allowed to attack Stark because Steve had told him that. He didn't know how else to make Stark shut up. 

Stark kept talking. "Is that why you told Rogers you didn't want a window? Because you wanted to keep this cell secure? You don't have to worry about that. Look, I'll show you. Jarvis, raise the blinds." 

The asset barely swallowed down his cry of distress as the metal plating that he had been inspecting earlier began to rise up into the ceiling. Weak sunlight showed through the glass behind as the panels rose and revealed more and more of the window behind. The asset would be expected to escape. He would have to leave Steve and then the handler would be there. The asset didn't know what the handler would order, but he knew it would be something far less pleasant than games or television shows about baking. 

"See, it's perfectly safe," Stark said. He walked over to the window and beat a metal-covered fist against the glass. When that had no effect, he raised a hand. There was a flash of light and a blast of force that pushed Stark back a few inches, but that had no effect on the window itself. 

"Come try it," Stark said, turning back to the asset. The floor panels under his feet changed to green as soon as he said the words. 

The asset knew that this had to be a trick. There would be a punishment if he tried to escape. But if he didn't try to escape, he would be breaking protocol and that was unacceptable. 

He walked over to the window, noting the thickness of the glass. It would take a great deal of force to break through, but the asset didn't want to overdo it and accidentally fall to his death if the window did smash too easily. So although he used his metal fist, he didn't quite put his full force into it. He swung the fist and beat against the glass to no effect. He tried again, with a little more force. The glass didn't even crack. He risked using his full strength, pounding metal fist into the window with all the strength his body had in it. Nothing happened. 

The asset gave a little laugh of relief. 

"There you go," Stark said. "You can't get out and no one else can get in. You're safe here." 

But that wasn't true. The handler had already proved he could get in. The asset wasn't safe anywhere. 

***

Fury wanted to discuss the security breach. He and Steve discussed the message and Bucky's reaction to it. Steve put a great deal of emphasis on the fact that Bucky had apologised immediately afterwards and that he hadn't used nearly as much force as he might have done. Steve had seen the sort of force Bucky had put into punching those walls. He could easily have shattered the bones in Steve's cheek, and yet he'd given a bruise that had been minor enough to already be completely healed. 

"What worries me," Fury said, "is how you said he reacted to the orders you gave him." 

"But he didn't obey those orders, at least not as soon as I gave him an order to hurt me. I don't think he felt any compulsion to obey the earlier ones either, he just did it because he thought I wanted him to." 

"That's precisely what's worrying me." 

"Why? Why would you be worried about Bucky not obeying orders? Isn't it a good thing if he's thinking for himself?" 

"Except that he obeyed the order in the fortune cookie, even though he didn't want to. If it distressed him that much to hurt you, why did he follow an order to hurt you?" 

Steve didn't have a good answer for that. The fact that Bucky had been upset by it, he saw as a good sign. 

"If he had to obey all orders addressed to Soldier," Fury continued, "or all orders in Russian, or all orders following a specific command code, then we would know something about how he was controlled and that would give us information on how to keep him from being controlled in the future. The fact that he obeyed the exact same order once and disobeyed it once means that there's a factor in play that we haven't considered." 

Steve didn't want to admit it, but Fury had a point. There was so much they didn't understand about what had been done to control and manipulate Bucky, and as long as Bucky refused to answer questions there wasn't much hope of filling the gaps in their knowledge. Taking Bucky into the lab and running brain scans would help, but he'd made it clear that he thought that room would hurt him, that he thought tests meant pain, and Steve had no intention of causing him any more distress than necessary. 

Steve and Fury talked for some time about Bucky, and about the changes to security measures to make sure that no written orders could get through without their knowledge. They talked about what Ward and Sitwell had found in the other restaurants. Fury agreed with their call about not bringing people in for questioning. There was no sense in pissing off half of New York when it was likely that the enemy planting secret messages wasn't officially connected with any of the restaurants that had been targeted. If it had just been the one Chinese place, or just the one fortune cookie, it would be different, but Ward had made it clear he'd found evidence of others. 

"Something doesn't sit right about the message," Steve said. "If it was meant as a test to see whether Bucky would obey, how would they know if it succeeded? Stark is convinced that there's no way they could have got into his security feeds or accessed the camera footage. The only result is that we've increased security." 

Steve had been turning that problem over in his head since the day before but had yet to come up with a satisfying theory to explain it. 

Fury clearly didn't have a good answer either. He suggested that perhaps someone had tried to get more messages inside, or perhaps the breach was supposed to make them take Bucky back to his former containment area so that he could be capture enroute. Steve didn't think that second idea was very likely, but it was a possibility. 

Fury continued though, "If that was the plan, whoever came up with it clearly had never met you." 

And that was certainly true. Steve had no intention of letting Bucky be put back into that hole in the ground no matter what messages were snuck through. 

Steve was just coming to the conclusion that their discussions were going nowhere when there was a knock on the door. An agent poked her head through. 

"Director," she said, "Dr Selvig is on the phone for you. He says there have been some urgent developments in his research." 

"Thank you, Agent Hill. Captain, please keep me updated about any further developments." 

Steve was glad to get out of that office and head back towards the tower. He would leave Fury to whatever urgent developments were demanding his attention and put his focus back on Bucky. 

He didn't bother checking in on the security office when he arrived, just asked Jarvis to take him directly to Bucky's floor, overnight bag in hand. He let himself in through the secure doors and then was pulled up short by what he saw. The first thing he noticed was the difference in light, with the huge windows no longer covered by metal. Bucky was standing by them, not banished to another room while Steve entered, perhaps because Bucky wasn't the only one present. Stark stood nearby, in full Iron Man armour except for the face plate, which was currently raised. 

"What's going on?" Steve asked, letting his bag drop to the floor by the door in case he needed both hands free. He tried not to sound angry even though he wanted to grab Stark and drag him out of there. Bucky had said he didn't want to see Stark and Steve had fully intended to respect that decision. It was no use trying to convince Bucky to trust him when Stark made him promises null and void. 

"We've been having a nice conversation about appropriate ways to ask for what you want, haven't we, James?" Stark gave Bucky a very pointed look. 

Bucky took a step towards Steve and then another, but with frequent glances towards Stark, as though waiting for instruction or reprimand. Bucky looked almost scared as he stood in front of Steve and a part of Steve wanted to pull Bucky into his arms and hold him until that expression went away. It took all his self-control not to do that, not to cross any boundary Bucky might have. 

When Bucky looked at him and said, "Steve, I want a hug," Steve could only stare at him, certain his imagination was behind the request, unable to comprehend how this could be real. Bucky had frozen up every time Steve had touched him. This was probably a misunderstanding. Maybe Stark had said something that Bucky had interpreted as an order. Perhaps Bucky thought this was something he was obligated to ask for. Steve didn't want to risk doing anything without Bucky's full agreement. Steve looked to Stark, who rolled his eyes and jerked his head towards Bucky in an obvious instruction. 

Still Steve hesitated. 

Bucky seemed to sag just a little, shrinking into himself. It was a tiny movement, but a little dipping of the head and sinking of the shoulders that signalled disappointment. Steve might not have noticed if he hadn't known Bucky from before, know what it looked like when Bucky was trying to put on a good show for people. Steve had seen that exact look on Bucky's face when he realised that Steve's transformation meant there was no way he was going to stay back home where it was safe. This was a Bucky who was being denied something that was important to him but who was trying not to show it. 

Steve moved towards him, opening out his arms. Bucky still looked scared and sad, as though afraid this would turn out to be a trap. It wasn't the body language Steve associated with Bucky wanting a hug. The old Bucky would have opened his arms up and walked right into the hug, but this new Bucky was scared to do that. 

Steve put his arms around Bucky tentatively, still a little worried that this might be the wrong thing to do. After all the times Bucky had been restrained or controlled, he didn't want to make Bucky feel trapped. For a long moment, Bucky just stood there, stiff and frozen in Steve's arms. It lasted long enough for Steve to wonder if he'd been right the first time, if physical contact made Bucky uncomfortable, but then Bucky's arms moved up around his back. A hand clawed into the fabric of his shirt, gripping tightly. Bucky leaned his head forward to rest against Steve's shoulder, burying his face in him. 

Steve responded by tightening his hold slightly, and Bucky clung to him like he might never let go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We finally have a hug. And it only took me twenty five chapters to get here.


	26. Chapter 26

The asset held on to Steve, feeling his warmth against his chest, smelling the scent of him, pressing into his closeness. The asset was almost afraid to move because the moment he moved Steve might let go of him and the asset didn't want that. If the asset could stay wrapped in Steve's arms forever, that would be good. Even if Steve did feel too large in his arms. The asset wanted to be able to engulf Steve completely, to let his body wrap around him and keep him safe, but Steve was too big for that now. 

Still, there was something good about having Steve wrapped around him. 

"Well, I've got better things to do than watch you two cuddle all day," Stark said. "Some of us have buildings to officially open. I'll see myself out. Just remember what I said about healthy ways of asking for what you want. And, Rogers, you need to learn not to reward self-destructive behaviour." 

"What do you mean?" Steve asked. He moved back a little, arms loosening from around the asset's back. The asset wasn't having any of that. He moved with Steve, keeping his arms tightly locked in place and his face buried into Steve's neck so he could breathe in the scent of him. 

"Bucky Boy here," Stark said, "was doing things to hurt himself because he knew you would come running to him." 

"Bucky," Steve said, with such pain in his voice that the asset wanted to punch Stark for saying those words. But punching Stark would mean letting go of Steve. And he wasn't allowed to attack people. 

"If you want to change self-destructive behaviour," Stark continued, "you've got to reinforce the idea that dangerous behaviour won't get a reward. Or so I've been told. So you need to not get all cuddly with him when he hurts himself deliberately, but only when he asks in a healthy way." 

"Right. OK. You hear that, Buck? No hurting yourself." 

The asset nodded his head against Steve's shoulder. Steve patted his back lightly. 

"Great," Steve said. "I'm glad to hear it." 

"I'll be letting myself out," Stark said. 

The asset didn't even look up at the sound of the door. Steve patted him gingerly again. 

"Are you alright, Buck?" 

The asset nodded again. He was lying somewhat, since he knew that the handler was watching him and that there might be orders to make him hurt Steve, but it was easier to feel alright when he was still hugging Steve. 

"I'm sorry I didn't hug you sooner. I thought... You always froze when I touched you so I thought... I thought you didn't want me to touch you. Not that this is your fault. It's my fault. I shouldn't have assumed." 

"It's not your fault," the asset said. He didn't want Steve to feel like he'd done something wrong if the asset could have just asked for this from the moment he woke up here. It was the asset's fault for not asking. He just hadn't known he was allowed to ask. He'd never been allowed to ask for things he wanted before. He'd never been allowed to want before. 

"I will hug you any time you want," Steve promised. 

"Thank you." 

They stood there a while longer, until Steve started shifting his weight slightly from foot to foot. He stilled when the asset gripped tighter, squeezing Steve close enough that it felt like their bodies might merge together into one being and never be apart again. The asset would like that. 

"Do you want to go somewhere more comfortable?" Steve asked. He wanted to move. He didn't want the asset to keep hugging him here, but he didn't tell the asset to let go. He would keep hugging if the asset told him to, the asset was almost sure. Steve gave suggestions not orders, and he wanted the asset to be happy. The asset could continue standing there, arms around Steve and Steve's arms around him, until one of them collapsed from exhaustion, and the asset knew that he could stand for several days at a time. 

But he didn't want Steve to be uncomfortable and standing for a long time could become that. He had wanted to do something nice for Steve. Doing nice things for Steve was more important than the asset getting nice things. 

"I prepared us breakfast," the asset said, still not raising his head from where it was buried against Steve. 

"Do you want to eat?" 

The asset would rather stay hugging Steve, but food would be useful and it would be wasteful to forget about the food he had laid out. He forced himself to nod and then made his metal hand release the hold on Steve's shirt so that he could back off a little, but he kept his flesh hand where it was. 

Steve took his cue from the asset, releasing him from the hug but keeping one arm around him so that the asset was pressed against his side. They moved like that into the kitchen, even though it meant they had to turn sideways to fit through the door. 

Steve looked at the food laid out on the table, the bowls and the cereal and the glasses of juice. 

"I couldn't prepare cooked food," the asset said. "Jarvis said you would need to authorise me using the oven." 

"Yes, I would," Steve said. "I think we should keep things as they are for now. Shield want you to meet with a psychiatrist to review your mental state. Maybe we can discuss letting you use the oven if that goes well, if the psychiatrist agrees to it. Are you alright with that?" 

It didn't matter if the asset said no. Steve was the one with all the authority here. He could decide what the asset could or couldn't do. The asset wasn't sure what would happen with the psychiatrist but he knew that psychiatrists were a type of doctor, and sessions with a doctor always hurt. Perhaps this was a test. If he endured the pain of a session with a doctor, he might be allowed to prepare hot food for Steve. He knew that he could endure pain. 

"I will see the psychiatrist," the asset said. It wasn't as though he had much choice. If Steve brought a psychiatrist in here, he would have to see him, and Steve had the ability to render him unconscious so that he could be restrained for a session. But doing that to him would probably upset Steve, so it was better not to put him in a situation where he would feel he had to do such things. 

"Thank you, Buck." 

Steve smiled at him. He then moved to the table, which necessitated moving away from the asset. The asset followed, quickly taking the seat beside him and shifting it in close so that their legs were touching. That earned him another smile. 

The asset poured cereal for Steve and handed him the milk to add the desired amount, only serving himself when he was sure Steve had enough. 

"You didn't have to wait for me," Steve said. "When I was late arriving, you could have just eaten by yourself." 

The asset knew that he technically could have, but it wasn't polite. He wanted to be nice to Steve and it wasn't nice to make him eat alone. Eating together was better. It was the way things should be. This felt like a protocol, but it was one the asset didn't fully remember. It had never been part of his protocol as an asset. When he was on missions, he ate when food was required, so long as it would not compromise his mission. When he was in a base, he ate what he was given when he was given it, regardless of whether anyone else was eating. When he was in the cell, he ate his meals on the schedule determined by his captors. Never had he followed a protocol about politeness or sharing food. Unless... 

"Bucky Barnes would have waited to eat with you," he said. Steve didn't look happy about that answer, and the asset wasn't sure why. 

"Is that why you waited?" Steve asked. "Because you think you, the old you, would have waited for me?" 

The asset bent his head down over the table. He wasn't sure where the security cameras were in this cell, but he was sure there wasn't one in his cereal bowl. He also wasn't sure how sensitive the sound feeds were, so he spoke quietly, hoping that his handler wouldn't hear. 

"I wanted to wait." 

An asset wasn't allowed to want. He wasn't allowed to give information to a captor. He had just done both. 

His whole body tensed, his hand clenching tight around the spoon, tight enough that the metal bent in his grip, as he braced himself for the inevitable pain, for the punishment that came from breaching protocol. When no pain arrived, it wasn't possible to relax because the handler might still have heard. The handler might still be planning punishment. Handlers were always planning punishment. 

When a hand touched the asset's back, he flinched. Touch meant pain and it seemed that lesson was burned into his skin when he was expecting punishment. 

"Sorry," Steve said, snatching his hand away. The asset mourned the loss of the touch. He wanted Steve's palm, warm and strong, resting in the middle of his back. He didn't know how to ask for it, no matter what Stark had said, because the handler might be watching, because he had already expressed a want. He couldn't say the words. 

He could reach out and take Steve's wrist in his hand, gently lifting it from the table. The angles made things awkward, but when he brought their hands back behind him, Steve understood. He kept his hand moving, even when the asset let go, and placed it back where it had been a moment before. 

"OK," Steve said. "So you want me to touch you, but you might react badly if I touch you too suddenly, is that right? I should sign-post my moves so you know what I'm about to do before I do them, is that what you want?" 

The asset nodded. He still wasn't allowed to want, but there would be punishment no matter what. He might as well enjoy this. 

After breakfast, the asset moved away from Steve only long enough to clean up, but then he pressed against Steve's side again. 

"Let's go back to the living room," Steve said. "There's information I want to show you." 

They went to the couch and the asset sat beside Steve, close enough that their legs and arms pressed together, a line of warmth down his side. Steve put an arm around the asset's shoulder, pulling him close. The asset leaned into the touch. 

"Yesterday," Steve said, "when I mentioned doing a test, you thought I meant that I wasn't going to do something that would hurt you. I want you to understand that's not how it's going to be. I want to give you information on the sort of tests I want to run on you." 

The asset wanted to flinch away from Steve's touch, wanted to wrap in on himself in preparation of the pain, but he forced himself to remain still. Reacting would not diminish the pain. Showing fear would just mean more punishment. So he waited, frozen and tense beside Steve, the arm around his shoulders feeling more like a restraint than a comfort now. 

Steve reached across with his other hand and touched his leg, rubbing it gently. It took all of the asset's strength not to flinch away from that too. 

"It's alright. We won't do any of these tests if you don't want to. There's a concept called autonomy, which means that you are in charge of your own body. You get to decide what's done to it. There are exceptions, like the security measures, but for anything like medical tests or procedures, you are allowed to say no. If you say no, we won't do it, but I want to give you all the information ahead of that, so that you can make the decision with all the facts. Do you understand?" 

The asset didn't understand. The asset was a weapon, a machine, and sometimes machines needed maintenance. Sometimes he needed repair. Either his body was damaged in a mission or his brain started to malfunction, and then someone needed to put him right. He wasn't allowed to say no to that. If his brain was malfunctioning, then he might not know that he needed to be repaired. An asset couldn't make such decisions about himself. It didn't make sense. But he nodded anyway, because Steve was looking at him with concern in his eyes and Steve obviously wanted him to say yes. 

Steve wanted him to say yes to the tests. 

"One of the tests is a scan of your brain," Steve said. "Apparently it's something similar to an MRI, which uses magnets to look inside people, but Stark had to make some changes because he wasn't sure how the machine was react to your arm. He built a machine that will send magnetic signals and electronic waves through your brain and allow us to see a picture of what's inside your head, but you won't feel a thing." 

On the huge screen, images of a machine appeared, with cut-away diagrams and photographs showing a chair with an apparatus that would come over the head of the person sitting in it. It didn't look exactly like _the_ chair, but it was similar enough to send a chill through the asset. 

Steve sounded hesitant when he spoke, like he wasn't certain of the words he was using. The asset suspected that Steve didn't really know how the machine worked, he was just saying words he'd been given by someone else. Perhaps Stark had lied to Steve about the test not hurting. That was a much better option than Steve lying to him directly. 

"What do you think?" Steve asked. "Would you be OK with this test?" 

The asset knew what answer Steve wanted, and he knew what the consequences were of giving the wrong answer, but he couldn't say that he wanted this. He couldn't accept a test without at least attempting the alternative. Steve had said that he could say no. The asset wanted to believe Steve. 

"No," the asset said. 

"Alright. If you change your mind, let me know. There are other tests, but they won't be as good at telling us what was done to you." Steve asked Jarvis to bring up more images on the screen of other apparatus, this one with wires and a soft cap. 

"This machine," Steve explained, "picks up electrical signals in the brain. Apparently there are cells in our brain that pass messages back and forth as little bursts of electricity, and this machine can detect those signals and provide information about what's going on inside a person's head. It doesn't show us a diagram, but it will show us patterns that should tell an expert something about the way that you think." 

Steve sounded as uncertain about this machine as the other one. That soft cap looked less menacing than the other machine, but the asset knew better than normal humans not to trust in appearances. That machine could probably do a lot of damage. It might even be capable of administering a wipe, and Steve clearly didn't know enough about how it functioned to be sure it wouldn't. Steve would have to bring in experts to help run the machine, technicians who couldn't be trusted. The asset couldn't risk forgetting Steve. 

"No," the asset said. 

So Steve showed him diagrams of two more machines and the asset said no to both of them too. Steve frowned more each time. 

"I'm glad you feel comfortable saying no," Steve said, "but can you say why you don't want the tests? Maybe I can ease your concerns." 

But the asset couldn't admit why, not while a handler was watching. If he said that he didn't want to forget Steve, then the handler would make sure every trace of Steve was erased from his head at the first chance he got. The asset remained silent. 

"We can talk about this again at some point," Steve said, "when you're a bit more comfortable here. In the meantime, what do you want to do today?" 

The asset wanted to stay like this on the couch, with Steve touching him. He didn't want to suggest anything that might make Steve let go, but he wasn't used to expressing wants. He wasn't sure it was allowed. He wasn't sure what the watching handler would do to him if he spoke like a human. But if he said nothing, Steve might suggest going to the library, or painting over the filled-in holes in the wall, which were probably dry enough for that now. He might suggest something that involved letting go. 

"Films," the asset said. The TV screen lit up without Steve having to say anything or even agreeing, Jarvis just accepted the asset's words as an instruction. 

"What sort of film do you want to watch, Buck?" Steve asked. "Comedy? Drama? Something with space ships or dragons?" 

There were too many choices. The asset had seen all the options available on this TV and there were too many to pick from. The choice was overwhelming, but there was a simple answer, a way which might help him with his quest to make Steve happy. 

"Us," he said. "The films with us." Steve would like it that he referred to the old Bucky Barnes as the same person as himself. It was not exactly true, but it would make Steve happy. He could pretend he was Bucky Barnes for him. 

"The propaganda films? I think we've watched all of them. Multiple times." 

The asset said nothing. If Steve wanted to do something different, they would do something different. The asset was used to having no say in what he did or what was done to him, so this would be no different. He would accept Steve's choice. So he waited in silence, for Steve to say something, to suggest another activity. But instead, Steve just looked at Bucky for a long minute. 

"Alright," he said. "If that's what you want. Jarvis." 

"Playing the archive footage," Jarvis pronounced, and the films began to play. They watched the films in an endless montage until Steve pronounced that they needed to stop for lunch. Afterwards, when Steve tried to suggest that they play a game or do something different, the asset asked for the films again. So they watched the films, even though the asset could probably close his eyes and still see them all in perfect detail by now. He wasn't sure why he still wanted to see them, even though Steve was clearly bored, because it wasn't just about having Steve touch him. Perhaps some part of him hoped that when the wipe eventually came, these images would be so embedded in his brain that no one would be able to get rid of them completely, but he knew that was an idle fantasy. 

They cooked dinner in the kitchen rather than order anything in. There were pre-chopped packages of meat and vegetables so that there was no need for a knife, and Steve prepared a hotpot of chicken and vegetables. He bemoaned the lack of potatoes, but apparently they wouldn't last well chopped up already, so instead they had rice with their meal. The asset helped with the work and there was something familiar about that, about working alongside Steve while food was cooking, preparing a meal to be shared. 

They ate, sitting so close together that they were touching, their arms getting in the way of each other as they moved their cutlery, but the asset wasn't going to suggest moving further apart, even when Steve's elbow caught him in the side. 

"Sorry," Steve said. The asset leaned closer to show that he was forgiven. "I guess no one's touched you gently in a long time." 

It wasn't a question to be answered, and the asset's memories were full of holes enough that he shouldn't have been able to be sure, but somehow he was absolutely certain that Steve was right. 

After the meal was finished and the dishes cleared away, Steve didn't ask the asset what he wanted to do. Instead, he said, "The propaganda films aren't going anywhere. You can always watch them again later, but for now I think we should do something different. We could play something. One of the games Jarvis has available is apparently a dancing game. You used to love dancing." 

The asset thought about this, thought about dancing with Steve. He nodded his agreement. If he were dancing with Steve, he would still have to touch Steve. 

At least that was what he thought until the game started and the screen displayed instructions. The instructions didn't want him dancing with Steve. He was supposed to stand next to Steve and they were supposed to move their bodies to match the movements of a cartoonish figure on the screen. As the music started to play, the asset began making the movements, but this was as silly as those ridiculous orders Steve had given him, the ones he hadn't wanted the asset to obey. Before the song had played for as much as a minute, the asset stopped trying to mimic the moves on the screen. Steve continued for a few seconds more, but then he stopped and turned to the asset. 

"What's wrong?" 

"This isn't dancing." 

"Jarvis, stop the program." The noise stopped and the screen went blank. "Jarvis, play us some dance tunes from the nineteen forties." 

Music began to play, sweeter and more harmonic than the cacophonous noise that had been coming from the TV earlier. That was better. This was music that could properly be danced to. 

But Steve frowned and said, "I'm afraid there are no dames here for us to dance with." 

He clearly didn't see the obvious solution, at least not until the asset took his hand and put the other hand on his hip. 

"Oh," Steve said. "Well I guess this wouldn't be the first time. You actually taught me to dance like this." 

The asset began moving, finding his feet knew the motions just as he knew the motions involved in stripping down a firearm. Some part of him remembered this, even if the rest of him had no recollection of ever having danced with Steve. They spun around the living room in time to the music, and Steve went with the asset's lead, twirling and spinning under the asset's guidance, laughing as he did so. The asset felt a simmering of resentment against Hydra that he didn't remember doing this with Steve before. Steve said that they had danced together but the asset had no memory of it. He wanted that memory back. He wanted to hurt Hydra for taking it from him. 

He froze and Steve stumbled. 

"Bucky, what is it?" 

But how could the asset put that impossible thought into words? How could he admit to something so terrible? Even thinking it was forbidden. He couldn't speak it out loud. He couldn't admit to wanting to hurt his masters. He especially couldn't do it when there were people watching, where the handler would see and would know how much he needed to be punished. 

"Bucky?" Steve said again. 

The asset just shook his head, and then Jarvis was interrupting him and the asset was filled with a surge of gratitude towards the machine for stopping this conversation. 

"I'm sorry to disturb you, Captain Rogers," Jarvis said, "but Agent Coulson from Shield is at the entrance and very insistent that he speak to you and Mr Stark."


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At least one person in the comments called this. It's Avengers time. :) Sort of.

"This is the life model decoy of Tony Stark," Stark was saying into his phone as Steve went to find him in the security office. "Please leave a message." 

Steve could just about hear the guy on the other end of the phone saying something about it being urgent, and he didn't understand why Stark would be putting this guy off. If he knew something about the attempt to get at Bucky, then they should hear what he had to say. Unless Stark was putting him off because he didn't trust him. 

"Then leave it urgently," Stark told the agent, and promptly hung up on him.

Steve said, "You know this guy?" And then at Stark's nod, "You trust him?" 

"Eh," Stark said, waving his hand in a so-so gesture. "As much as I trust any of Fury's pet goons." He looked around at the men in Shield uniform all around them. "No offence to any present goons." 

Steve wasn't sure if he wanted to roll his eyes or yell at Stark not to be rude to the people who were helping them. He settled for saying, "Let's go down and hear him out." 

They met the guy in the lobby of the Tower because Jarvis's new security protocols wouldn't let him getting any further inside than that. The man looked clean-cut and friendly, smiling a broad greeting at Steve. 

"Captain Rogers," he said. "Phil Coulson." He offered a hand to shake, which Steve took, ignoring Stark's comment of, "Phil? Your first name is Agent." 

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Coulson said. "I mean, officially. I've seen you before. I watched you when you were sleeping. After the ice, I mean. I was one of the team assigned to keep an eye on you when you were brought back." 

The man seemed very flustered and Steve wasn't the only one who noticed. 

"Do you have a little crush going on here, Coulson?" Stark asked. 

"No! It's just... I heard a lot of stories about you, Captain. It's an honour to be here." 

"Maybe you should get to the point of why you're here," Steve suggested. Coulson seemed happy to be able to cut short this line of conversation. Stark was less so; he'd clearly been enjoying watching Coulson get flustered. There was some history here that Steve would need to find out at some point soon. 

Steve expected information about the hidden message or about the people after Bucky. He wasn't expecting to be given a folder containing pictures of the strange, glowing cube that had been the source of Hydra's power for all of their advanced weaponry, or to hear stories about ancient gods coming through portals from another world. Steve listened to Coulson explain about the attack on a Shield facility and how this Loki had apparently walked out of there with the cube and two of Shield's own people. He just didn't see what this had to do with him and he said as much. 

"If you've got a couple of traitors inside Shield working for this Loki guy, then you should be dealing with that, not talking to us." 

"Barton isn't a traitor to Shield. I've known him a long time and I trust him, and from what I've seen of Dr Selvig, I can't imagine he'd ever willingly let his research be used for destruction, but all Loki had to do was touch them with that staff, and they were both doing whatever he wanted." 

"You're talking about mind control," Steve said. 

"That's what it looks like." 

Steve flipped through the photos in the folder, images captured from the security footage that had been backed up over the internet to some other source before the base had apparently exploded. He saw the glowing cube and he saw the staff with the same eerie glow. Were they connected somehow? 

It seemed likely, because another page of the file talked about them both giving off gamma radiation and having similar energy signatures. 

"I still don't see what this has to do with us," Steve said. 

"Fury would like your assistance with capturing Loki and getting our people back," Coulson said. 

"We've got a lot on our plates at the moment," Steve said, because the alternative was telling Coulson to go to hell and throwing him out the door without bothering to open it first. 

"I thought Fury didn't want me in his boyband anyway," Stark said, taking the folder from Steve and frowning at a chart on one of the pages. "Something about me being volatile, self-obsessed, don't play well with others." 

Steve decided it was better not to comment on how he couldn't imagine anyone assessing Stark in those terms. Besides, given everything Stark had done for him, including figuring out that Bucky was desperate for physical contact, Steve was beginning to think that his narcissistic persona was a front. 

"This isn't about personality profiles anymore," Coulson said. "This is about preventing a threat to the entire world." 

"Shield is the most highly-funded organisation in the world," Stark said. "You've got more weapons active now than Stark Industries produced in its entire manufacturing history. You've got a whole army. Why the hell would you need to come here?" 

"We learned in New Mexico that traditional weapons are no match for alien threats. Besides, wars aren't won by weapons, they're won by soldiers." Coulson looked pointedly at Steve. 

"I'm not leaving Bucky," Steve said. Even if he thought the odds were absurdly slim that there was a traitor inside the security team, he couldn't shake the uneasiness he felt, and he didn't trust anyone to protect Bucky as well as he could. Besides, Bucky had wanted him to stay and Steve didn't want to disappoint him again. He had brought his overnight bag and had planned to stay for several days together if that was what it took to make Bucky feel better. 

And what if the enemy found some way to sneak a message inside again? The security team might be harsher than necessary in disabling Bucky and they probably wouldn't be able to comfort him afterwards about it not being his fault. And what if Bucky actually hurt someone? Or hurt himself? The conversation that morning with Stark about harmful approaches to asking for help was still fresh in Steve's mind. There was absolutely no way that Steve was going to leave Bucky. 

Stark was right. Shield had enough people and resources that they could easily manage without Steve. His mission was protecting Bucky and nothing else mattered compared to that. 

"Captain Rogers," Coulson said, "I understand your concern, and Shield will provide whatever resources and assurances you feel are necessary for you to come with us on this." 

"If you have resources to protect Bucky," Steve said, "you can use those resources to catch Loki. I'm staying right here." 

"Please think about this, Cap, we don't know exactly what was done to Sergeant Barnes. All the best scans and tests Shield could do after we found out his true identity didn't give us enough information to know how they erased his original personality, but there's a good chance it was done by Hydra. And now we're seeing someone use unknown technology to erase a person's mind?" 

"Technology that looks a hell of a lot like Hydra tech," Steve finished for him. He wasn't imagining the connection between the cube and the staff, and if the cube had been involved in whatever had been done to Bucky's mind, then maybe there was a way for it to be undone. Maybe a staff that could steal away a person's free will could be instrumental in restoring it. 

Steve would rather rip out his own heart from his chest than abandon Bucky now that he'd found him again, or entrust his safety to near-strangers, but if there was a chance that this staff could be used to get Bucky his mind back, then didn't Steve owe it to him to try? 

Steve wished he could tear himself in two, so that he could both stay with Bucky and go after the staff that might hold a clue to getting Bucky back to how he'd been before. But he could only be in one place at a time and there was only one place that could be, especially given Bucky's requests for him to stay and the recent expression of desire for physically contact. 

"Look," Steve said, "I can't leave Bucky, not now."

"Captain, I understand your concern, but Sergeant Barnes was safe in Shield's custody for more than a year before Fury brought you involved. We can keep him safe for a few days more." 

"It's not just his physical safety," Steve told him. He thought of the way Bucky had clung to him, the desperation behind it. "He's been locked in a box on his own for over a year. He needs company. He needs human contact. He needs _me_." 

Coulson didn't seem to have an argument for that. 

"I'm sorry," Steve said. "I realise that this situation is dangerous and I would help you deal with Loki if the circumstances were different, but Bucky needs me and he has to come first. I will be interested to learn anything you can find out about the staff, but I'm staying here. I'm sure Stark will be able to help you fight Loki without me." 

"Maybe not," Stark said. 

Both Steve and Coulson gave him surprised looks. 

"You don't think you can fight him without me?" Steve said. "Or you're not going either?" 

"Jarvis, privacy mode, five minutes," Stark said. 

"No unauthorised surveillance equipment detected. All standard monitoring and recording in this area will be disabled for five minutes starting from the tone. You will not be able to communicate with me during this time." There was a long tone following these words, presumably the start of this unmonitored time. 

"Tony, what's going on?" Steve asked. 

"I think you should come along and fight Loki." There was a cocky grin on Stark's face that didn't match the seriousness of the situation. 

"What are you scheming, Stark?" 

***

The asset didn't like that Steve had been called away. He didn't like not knowing what was going on. The asset was used to not being told information. He never knew why orders were given or what the ultimate goal of his missions were. That information was never necessary for him. He often didn't know the names of his victims or his allies, unless it was strictly necessary for his missions. He never knew why handlers and commanders were called away or what they talked about in the meetings the asset wasn't brought to. The asset often didn't know even his own experiences, thanks to the chair and the wipes. 

Not having information had never mattered before, because Steve had never been involved before. He hadn't cared where those commanders or handlers had gone when they left him. In many ways, it was better when they were gone because it was harder for them to hurt him. But it mattered that Steve was gone and it mattered that the asset didn't know what was happening because it meant he didn't know when Steve was coming back. He didn't know if Steve was alright. 

He needed Steve to be alright. 

"Jarvis, where is Steve?" 

"He was last on my monitors in the lobby of this building," Jarvis replied, "but Mr Stark activated privacy mode so I am unable to provide any further information." 

"If he was in the lobby, he might have left the building." He might have gone away without saying goodbye. 

"Unlikely. He has not appeared on my external monitors or in any of the Tower areas adjacent to the lobby. The most likely scenario is that he remains in the lobby. Monitoring will resume in one minute and forty four seconds." 

The asset started counting seconds, the time seeming subjectively far longer than it ought to have done, but less than a minute later, Jarvis announced, "Steve has entered elevator three and requested this floor." 

He was coming back. The asset felt silly for worrying that he would leave. 

But then Steve entered the cell, a serious expression on his face. 

"Bucky," he said, "I'm sorry, but there something unexpected and very dangerous that's come up. Shield needs me to help deal with it. I know I said I'd try to stay the night, but I have to leave you for a little bit. I'm sorry." 

Steve didn't quite meet the asset's eyes as he said this and somehow the asset knew he was lying. Steve was lying to him. 

Steve wouldn't lie to him. That was a fact as clear to the asset as the fact that orders were to be obeyed or that gravity would affect the trajectory of a bullet over a long distance. But Steve had just lied to him. 

Or was Steve lying to someone else? 

It was possible that Steve was lying to the asset about the important mission, or about being sorry, and he just wanted to leave, but the asset wasn't the only one able to hear Steve right now. This room was being constantly monitored. 

Jarvis had turned off monitoring in the lobby while Steve had been there. Even Jarvis hadn't been able to tell what was happening, so that meant no one else could either, but now Steve's words were being listened to by the handler. The asset was certain that Steve had been lying, but about which part and who was the intended recipient of the lie? Was it possible that the lie had been about him leaving? A lie intended for the overseeing handler? 

If that was the case, then maybe Steve was trying to trap the handler. Maybe he knew who the handler was. 

But the asset couldn't take the risk. If Steve really did leave, then the asset didn't know what might happen. He needed to give a message. But it was critical that the handler not realise. 

The asset walked across the room to Steve and held out his arms. Steve stepped in easily for a hug. 

"I'm sorry," Steve said again. The asset put one hand on the back of Steve's head, guiding its position so that Steve's face would be buried in the asset's shoulder, his expression hidden. The asset didn't trust Steve to keep his features blank, but their long periods of hugging earlier would prevent this from seeming suspicious now. 

The asset squeezed his other arm a little tighter and then quickly loosened it. The change in pressure too small to be noticeable to anyone watching on surveillance. He squeezed again, then released, another three times. Then he paused before starting the next squeeze, holding it for longer this time. He hoped Steve worked out what he was doing and recognised the pattern. He thought Steve knew what he was doing because he stayed very still and quiet as the asset squeezed him gently, sometimes briefly, and sometimes for a little longer, spelling out letters in morse code through the hug. 

The H was four short squeezes. The Y was a long squeeze, a short, and then another two long. He kept going until he had spelled out H Y D R A H E R E W A T C H I N G. He couldn't risk a longer message, but he waited, holding on a little longer in case Steve had a reply.


	28. Chapter 28

It was good that Bucky had hidden Steve's face in his shoulder before he began his message, because Steve knew he wouldn't be able to keep the shock and fury from his features. He wanted to deny it. He wanted to scream out against the possibility. By the time he'd worked out Bucky was giving him a coded message, he'd reached the D of Hydra and Steve had already known how that word was going to end, and already wanted to scream out a refusal against the very idea. He had destroyed Hydra. He had gone down with a plane to see that the last of Hydra was ended. 

How could Hydra have survived the fall of Red Skull and the swathe of destruction the Howling Commandos had torn through their bases? How could Steve have failed so badly that Hydra was still around all these years later? 

But Bucky told him that Hydra was here and watching. Much as Steve would have liked to blame things on Bucky's confused mind, much as he would have liked to pretend that Bucky was just confusing one set of bad guys for another, he knew he couldn't ignore what Bucky was outright telling him. 

There was sense to it. Hydra had been researching that cube and the technology it powered, which was linked somehow to the mind-control stick. If Hydra had some secret bases that the Commandos hadn't found, they might have captured Bucky after his fall from the train and then never lost him. Bucky might have been Hydra's prisoner all the way until his capture by Shield. 

And now he thought Hydra were here, watching him. He was sure of it to the extent that he was hiding his message in a hug. That might have been paranoia, fear brought on by years of captivity, or it might have been absolute fact. As Steve felt Bucky's arms around him, he remembered the fear on Bucky's face when he saw Rumlow. Rumlow's first word to Bucky was to address him as 'soldier'. That was the factor that had been so obvious in hindsight, the one difference between the order Bucky had obeyed and the ones he'd disobeyed: he'd followed the order that had been given to him by Rumlow. 

The knock-on implications were enormous. If Rumlow was Hydra, then what about the other messages Ward and Sitwell had found? Were those red herrings planted by someone else? Or were Ward, Sitwell, or both of them also compromised? And what about Pierce? He was the one who had recommended Rumlow for this. Was that just bad luck or was Pierce also involved? If Pierce could be involved in Hydra, who else might be? 

Steve had earlier dismissed the idea of Rumlow being compromised as highly implausible because of the scale of conspiracy that would be required, but Steve had no doubt now that Rumlow was a double-agent. Had Rumlow just gotten incredibly lucky in getting this position here? Or was the conspiracy as big as Steve had speculated? 

He needed to figure this out, and he couldn't do it in a place where his every facial expression could be seen and analysed by the person he now knew was an enemy. He also needed proof. As satisfying as it would be to march into the security room and punch Rumlow in the face until his brain was puree, he needed more evidence than a hug from a prisoner to prevent himself getting arrested and being in no position to help Bucky. On top of that, he needed to know who else was Hydra. 

He'd thought it was incredibly unlikely that one of the security team could be a double agent on their own, which meant Rumlow was working with others. If Steve moved now, he might be able to get Rumlow arrested for something, but then Hydra would probably let Rumlow take the fall, or Rumlow would pull the suicide trick that too many Hydra agents had pulled in the past and Steve would lose any chance to interrogate him. If that happened, Bucky would still be in danger and Steve would have no idea where the next threat was coming from. 

Steve felt awful about this, like he was leaving Bucky as bait for the bad guys, but he knew that this was the best option. He squeezed Bucky back, a series of short and long squeezes to spell out four letters. P L A N. He hoped Bucky would understand. He hoped he wasn't just exposing Bucky to more danger after everything he'd suffered. 

"It'll be alright, Buck," Steve said. "I know you don't want me to leave, and I'm sorry, I really did intend to stay tonight, but Agent Coulson seems to think this is very important. You'll be safe here though. You can always ask Jarvis if you need something, and there will be people watching in case something goes wrong." As he said that last part he squeezed again, trying not to let his flow of speech be noticeably disrupted as he counted out the slow and fast squeezes to spell M E as he promised someone would be watching. He desperately needed Bucky to know that he wasn't abandoning him. 

He pulled out of the hug when it seemed that Bucky didn't have any more messages for him. 

"I'll be back as soon as I can," Steve said. 

He started towards the door and then hesitated, looking back, feeling like there was something else he needed to say, like he was missing something important. 

"You're taking all the stupid with you," Bucky said quietly. Steve sucked in a shaking breath. Those had been the last words he'd said to Bucky before they'd been separated by the war, the night before Bucky had shipped out. Bucky had remembered them somehow. 

Steve gave a smile that felt unsteady as he found voice to say, "Jerk." 

"Punk," Bucky replied. Steve could have cried at the sound of that word. He wanted to fling his arms around Bucky and never leave, but he had to keep Bucky safe, including keeping him safe from the enemy he had unknowingly given access to him. Right now, the best way to do that was to leave. 

He somehow managed to walk out of the cell and he even more miraculously managed to not punch Rumlow in the throat when he walked into the security office. Instead, he handed out instructions on not letting anyone into the cell and calling him if there was any trouble, and he dealt with Stark rolling his eyes and calling him a mother hen, and Agent Coulson saying that they really needed to get on the quinjet because the situation was time-critical. Steve extracted another promise from Rumlow that Bucky would be safe, exactly like he would if Bucky hadn't given him his coded message, and exactly like he would if he really was leaving for another mission. 

He thought Rumlow bought it. 

When Steve left the Tower with Coulson and Stark, Rumlow would believe that he was heading half-way round the world on an important mission. Steve was giving Hydra an opening to exploit. He just hoped he wasn't making the second biggest mistake of his life, right after failing to catch Bucky on that train. 

***

Steve had a plan. 

Steve knew that Hydra were watching the asset and he had a plan to deal with them. 

That should have been reassuring. If there was a plan, all the asset had to do was go along with it. That was what he was built to do. He followed orders and he fulfilled plans for the people in charge. Steve having a plan should be a good thing, but some part of the asset was worried. 

Steve came up with terrible plans. 

The asset was built with strategic thinking in mind. He was supposed to analyse situations and come up with the best approach to complete a mission, but only within the parameters of a plan. He wasn't allowed to stray from a plan he was given. He could consider ways to avoid or mitigate any strategic gaps in the plans he was given, but he wasn't allowed to pass judgement on the plans themselves. He wasn't allowed to think that they were terrible. But still the thought remained: Steve came up with terrible plans. 

He couldn't remember any examples of Steve's plans, terrible or otherwise, but he knew that Steve didn't think about his own safety enough. He would come up with plans that involved him charging head-first into danger without adequate safety measures in order to save everyone else, but he never thought to watch his own back. He needed someone to watch his back for him and to drag him out of the trouble he got himself into. He needed the asset. 

The asset stared at the door Steve had left through, wishing he could go out after him, but he couldn't get through the security. He couldn't stay with Steve because he was a prisoner, because he was an enemy. He was an asset of Hydra, a weapon to be used by Hydra. A weapon that could be used against Steve. 

The asset didn't want to be used against Steve. He wanted to be Steve's asset. But it didn't matter what he wanted because the asset couldn't choose what protocols to follow and what orders to obey. Or could he? 

The thought was a malfunction, but it was a thought that he couldn't escape. The asset brought the fingers of his flesh hand round to his metal shoulder, to the layers of paint there in their bright colours, marking him as Steve's. Steve had given him choices, asking him what he wanted to do. Steve had let him say no to the tests. The asset wasn't supposed to choose, except within the fixed parameters of a mission. But still he had chosen. Could he choose other things? 

He had chosen to refuse the orders Steve had given him. Could he choose to refuse orders from someone else? 

The thought filled him with a rush of terror that was almost overwhelming. Memories of pain threatened to erase any other thoughts in his mind. Disobedience meant punishment, meant pain, meant a horror he shied away from with his entire being. If he refused Hydra's orders, if he disobeyed, it would hurt. It would hurt in every way it was possible to hurt. 

He wanted to hide in a corner of the cell, to curl into a ball to reduce the available surface area for blows and electric shocks. He wanted to shield himself from the pain these thoughts would result in. 

But if he belonged to Steve, then it would be Steve who would decide on his punishments, not Hydra. Steve would protect him from the handler. 

The terror didn't fade, but something shifted in the feeling as it adjusted around these forbidden thoughts. The asset felt like he did when he had a plan for a dangerous mission. There were risks, because there were always risks. There was the possibility of pain, because there was always pain. There was the possibility that this plan would get him killed, but he had faced death many times before. This plan would let him belong to Steve, and that would be worth the pain and the risks, because Steve was worth any pain. 

The asset knew he must be malfunctioning but he didn't want to be fixed. He was making a choice that he knew he shouldn't make, but it was the only choice he could make. He would be Steve's asset, not Hydra's. When the Hydra handler came for him, the asset would refuse. He wouldn't obey any order the Hydra handler gave him, no matter the pain. When the Hydra handler came for him, the asset would fight. He wasn't going to belong to them anymore, no matter what it cost him. He had been Bucky Barnes before he was the asset, and Bucky Barnes belonged to Steve.


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm making some assumptions about JARVIS here, that it isn't just a single computer program installed on a single server somewhere, partly because that would mean that if Tony's out flying around somewhere, his suit would have to send a signal back to the server and get a response, which could take several seconds, which could be an issue in life-or-death situations while he's fighting. I'm working on the assumption that there's a main Jarvis program installed physically in the building (the Tower, his mansion, or both) and a specialised version of Jarvis installed in his suit with all the controls necessary for flight/combat but not necessarily all of Jarvis (it probably wouldn't have any of the protocols around managing his schedule or the mansion's air conditioning, or the lab equipment, etc.). These systems are all in communication with each other and sharing data to a main storage area that is effectively Jarvis' brain, but there's a level of independence too. So this means that when Tony is off on a mission talking to Jarvis, it's not exactly the same Jarvis as the one running the Tower. 
> 
> Hopefully this makes sense.

The asset was on guard, waiting for something to happen. Perhaps the handler would make his move to reclaim the asset or punish him for his transgressions, for thinking forbidden thoughts and acting in ways that ran contrary to protocols. Perhaps Steve would reappear, back from completing his plan against Hydra. There would be something, so the asset waited in the living room, where he could continue to observe the entrance to his cell. On the other side of the large windows, the lights of the city were constantly shifting, traffic moving down below like rivers of light. 

There was no sign of Steve or the handler. 

"Might I make a suggestion?" Jarvis said. 

"Yes," the asset answered, because Jarvis certainly could. The asset had no way to stop him. 

"Sleep is beneficial. In my experience, Miss Potts can grow very upset with Mr Stark when he does not get sufficient sleep because she cares about his well-being. Captain Rogers cares about your well-being. I suspect he would want you to sleep." 

"Have you heard from Steve?" The asset found himself strangely hopeful about that idea. 

"I have not heard from Captain Rogers or Mr Stark since their departure. I can signal the remote version of my personality in Mr Stark's suit to request an update, if you like." 

"Please." The asset shouldn't have needed the message. He was capable of operating without direct supervision when necessary to complete a mission, so he should assume Steve was too. Still, he worried. Steve didn't watch his own back properly and he didn't have an asset there to protect him. He just had Tony Stark. Even with that impressive armour, the asset couldn't trust Stark to properly protect Steve. 

"Mr Stark has requested that I tell you to stop your fretting and that lover boy is perfectly safe. I suspect he means Captain Rogers." 

The asset nodded his agreement. 

"If I receive any further updates from them, I will inform you at once," Jarvis promised. 

"Even if I'm asleep?" 

"If that is your wish, yes." 

"Thank you, Jarvis." It wasn't quite the same as having Steve here or knowing that he was alright through his own direct observation, but it would have to do. The asset could sleep if that was what would keep Steve happy. But he wasn't going to relax his guard. The handler was here and Steve wasn't. The handler might make a move at any moment. 

The asset went into the bedroom and lay down on the bed, on top of the covers so that his movements wouldn't be hindered if he needed to leap into action. He remained fully dressed, although the clothes he had been provided with were not ideal combat gear. They provided limited protection and his bare feet were a potential source of risk should it come to close combat. He doubted a request for proper boots would yield a satisfying result though, so he stayed silent. He didn't need the handler to know that he was preparing himself for a fight. 

The asset closed his eyes, remained still, and let himself fall into a light sleep. 

Sleep came quickly, through the long-trained necessity of snatching whatever sleep he could get between missions, training, and testing, but the sleep was not particularly deep nor satisfying. He woke a few times and had to perform a quick check of the cell to ensure that he was still on his own in here, that there weren’t handlers waiting to reclaim him as soon as he lowered his guard again. 

He considered asking Jarvis to inform him should anyone enter the cell, but the handler could probably overrule that request and asking for information would give away that he was concerned about an attack. The asset would just have to hope that the sound of the cell door opening would be enough to wake him and give him warning. 

He lay back on the bed again and closed his eyes. 

Jarvis’ voice snapped him awake. “I have been asked to provide an update on your physical and mental well-being. Is there any information you wish Mr Stark to relay to Captain Rogers?” 

The asset hadn’t considered this. He had thought about receiving a message from Steve but not planned for delivering a message to him. He couldn’t give a message without the handler overhearing it, so he would have to consider his words carefully. 

"Tell him that a shield is supposed to protect his stupid head not be thrown away." The asset wasn't entirely sure where those words had come from. Like calling Steve stupid when he left, they felt like an echo, a memory that hadn't quite been wiped the way it should have been. The message that Steve was supposed to protect himself was important, but he couldn't just tell him to take care because that would be giving an order and the asset wasn't allowed to give orders. He wanted to order Steve to stay safe though. 

"I will relay the message," Jarvis said. 

The asset closed his eyes again, glad to know that Steve was still alright, that he was still thinking of him. Assuming the messages really came from Steve. The thought crept into the asset's mind that he had no way to know that it was really Steve asking for information. Even Jarvis said that it was really Stark he was talking to. It was possible that Stark was lying, that he was claiming to speak to Steve while Steve wasn't actually with him. 

The asset couldn't ask a question like that though, not just because it was confrontational and would warrant punishment, but because that might be Steve's plan. Steve might want the handler to think he was gone, so he was letting Stark deliver messages through Jarvis as though he were miles away, while really he was nearby, waiting to put his plan into action. Or maybe Steve was dead and Stark was trying to appease him by delivering these messages in order to keep him from fighting. The asset had no way to know. He couldn't trust any of these people except for Steve. 

That thought was another strange one. Trust was a foreign concept to the asset. He was expected to do what his commanders and handlers told him to do. He was supposed to accept that they were right, that they were in authority, but at the same time he had always known that they would lie to him. They would cause him pain even when they said that they wouldn't. Trust had never been a factor, but he trusted Steve. 

It was possible Steve would hurt him, might make him go through tests and painful procedures, but he doubted any of that would be through Steve's choice. He would have to be tricked or forced into it. The asset could trust that Steve would do everything in his power to keep him safe. 

That idea was comforting, if unfamiliar. He would have to trust that whatever Steve's plan was now, it would have the asset's safety at its heart. The asset had a suspicion that Steve would prioritise the asset over his own life, which was less comforting, but he could know that he hadn't been abandoned here, even with the handlers nearby. 

When morning came, the asset asked Jarvis whether Steve was likely to be there for breakfast and was informed that it was extremely unlikely as the situation requiring his and Mr Stark's attention had not been resolved fully. The asset took a shower. If Steve's plan failed and the handler regained control of him, the asset might not get another chance for a hot shower. Still, he didn't remain under the water long as the sound of falling drops made it difficult to listen out for the opening of the main door and he didn't wish to be caught off-guard. It would be more difficult to fight if he were exposed and wet. 

He dried off and dressed quickly, but there was no sign of the handlers or anyone else gaining entry to the room. The asset made himself a breakfast of bread and cereal and then returned to the main living area. He had Jarvis activate the TV screen, but this time he avoided the videos and instead asked to see the other information available on Bucky Barnes and Steve. Jarvis was able to display a number of photographs and scans of historic documents that had been provided by a museum about Steve. The information was largely centred around Steve, but there were plenty of references to their friendship, and the asset consumed it eagerly. He found the records less personal, less interesting, than the stories Steve had told, but in the absence of Steve to tell more stories, the asset would make do with the information source available to him. 

After some time, the asset's attention was drawn to movement outside the huge window. An aircraft was approaching the building. The asset moved to the window to get a better look at the aircraft. There could be no doubt that this building was its destination as it slowed down to hover somewhere above the floor the asset was on. 

"Jarvis, what is that aircraft?" the asset asked. 

"It is registered to Shield and providing appropriate Shield clearance codes for general access, but the codes do not align with the new protocols Mr Stark implemented in response to bringing you here so I am denying them access to the Tower." 

The asset felt somewhat comforted that Jarvis was not allowing the aircraft further, but he was still concerned. He didn't have any weapons should the aircraft turn out to contain enemies. The angle and the thickness of the window did not allow him to see clearly what was happening up there. 

"Have you contacted Steve about this?" the asset asked. 

"I am attending to reach Mr Stark through the version of my software installed within his suit," Jarvis replied. "While I am receiving a connection ping to show that the software is active, I an unable to send or request more substantial data. Something is blocking the connection between the Tower and the suit directly. I am attempting to send a message by another means but my connection to the internet and other networks also appears to be blocked. I am unsure how long this has been going on, as my usual IP ping tests are succeeding." 

The asset didn't know exactly was an IP ping test was, but the gist he understood was that Jarvis was able to perform tests that made it look like he was connected to Stark or the internet, but he wasn't really. That suggested that whoever was blocking him was clever enough to do something more sophisticated than simply cutting all wired connections and jamming airborne signals. The question the asset was unsure of though was whether the responsible party was the handler, or whoever was in that aircraft up there. Or if both were connected. It was possible that the handler had brought the aircraft in to extract the asset. 

The asset's attention was drawn to sound at the door of the cell. He turned, tensing for a fight, as the handler walked in, half a dozen men following from the cramped compartment between the two doors. 

"We need to move you," the handler said. He had something in his hand. A syringe. He wanted to drug the asset, probably to render him unconscious so that he wouldn't be a threat during a move. 

"That is not authorised," Jarvis told him. 

"The situation has changed," the handler said. "An unknown party is trying to gain access to this building and they're using alien tech to attempt an override of the security protocols. We're compromised and we can't take the risk that they're here for Barnes." 

"James cannot be removed from this cell without the authorisation of Mr Stark and Captain Rogers." 

"Can you raise them to ask for permission? Because I can't. Cap left me in charge and I'm making this call. We're moving Barnes for his own safety." 

The asset wondered why the handler was making these justifications and not simply asserting control as a HYDRA agent. Perhaps it was because the asset wasn't the only one being watched. Jarvis had eyes everywhere. The handler might have been trying to maintain cover, giving a plausible reason for getting the asset to a place where he wasn't being constantly observed. He didn't know that the asset had already warned Steve about a HYDRA infiltration. The asset hoped that was the case because that meant the handler couldn't overrule Jarvis if Jarvis decided to keep him here. 

Almost as soon as he had that thought, the power went out. The lights overhead went out and the shutters clanged down over the window with a ringing of metal. The door behind the handler slammed shut as well, but there was still a faint glow from the floor panels beneath their feet. They must have been set up on a different power supply, or perhaps they had an internal battery. 

The handler raised a hand to one ear. "Damn it! I told you not to kill the power." There was a pause as someone presumably replied into the earpiece. "Fine. Plan B. Whoever's upstairs has shut off Jarvis, but at least this way we don't have to pretend anymore. Focus on getting the door open." The handler looked to the asset. "You know me?" 

"Yes." 

"I am an agent of Hydra assigned as your handler. You will obey me." 

The asset thought the trembling came from inside him as a reaction to those words, but there was a sound of explosions, muffled by the thick walls surrounding this cell. Presumably someone was trying to blast through the now-sealed doors so that they could get out. 

A fine spray of water burst from several points in the ceiling, raining down on them. It wasn't as warm as the shower and it would make the floor slippery if this turned to violence. 

"What the hell?" asked one of the men behind the handler. He was looking about as if for an enemy. 

"The charges must have triggered the fire prevention," the handler said. "Stop acting like a baby. It's only water." 

"There weren't any sprinklers on the schematics Stark provided." 

"Because fire systems aren't security systems." The handler seemed more annoyed than before, though whether it was at the man's concerns or the fact he was now wet, it was impossible to know. He turned his attention back to the asset. "Solider, extend your right arm." 

He still held the needle, no doubt intending to drug the asset with its contents. If the asset allowed himself to be drugged, he would be unable to resist. He would have no way to prevent the handler or anyone else from taking him away from here, from where Steve knew how to find him. He felt the flood of terror washing over him as he forced his arm to stay at his side. His hand was trembling from the effort of not obeying. His whole body seemed to be fighting against him, his breath coming faster as though he was in the midst of a terrible battle. 

He saw the anger on his handler's face and knew that anger meant pain and punishment. Anger was a thing to be avoided, and yet here he was inviting it. 

"Soldier, obey!" the handler snapped. 

The asset's hand would have been damp with sweat even without the water falling from above. He knew that whether he obeyed or disobeyed, there would be pain. There would always be pain. But if he disobeyed, then he might be able to stay with Steve. Even if Steve punished him for attacking someone, which was against Steve's rules, it would be better than going with a handler and facing whatever punishments Hydra might have in store for him. 

He forced his mouth to open, forced the air to leave his lungs, forced his lips and tongue to shape the word. It felt like the most difficult activity the asset had ever performed as he made himself say a single word: "No."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a little aside, I've posted a video on my YouTube channel about why fanfic is awesome, with the slightly click-baity title of [Why Fanfic is Better Than Original Fiction](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mH0fjOYuCOk).


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made up some stuff about the amount of weight Steve can lift, but I figured a guy who can hold onto a helicopter can manage it. :)

Time seemed to slow. The terror dragged out the moment of silence into an eternity. The handler's expression was one of rage. 

"You will obey me, Soldier," he said. Behind him, the asset could see the shield symbol painted on the wall. He couldn't feel it, but he knew that the paint on his arm matched it. Steve's symbol, his brand overlaying the one that had been there before. Steve's ownership overlaying Hydra's. 

"I'm not Hydra's asset anymore." 

"Hydra made you. Obey!" 

The asset forced himself to remain still. 

Beside the handler, one of the men raised his hand, some sort of remote control in it. The handler grabbed the man's wrist. 

"You idiot! Water conducts electricity. Are you trying to get us all killed?" 

Understanding snapped into place. The man had been about to use the floor panels against the asset, but he couldn't without hurting everyone in this room. The knowledge pushed through the terror. The asset had an advantage, or at least the disadvantage had been disabled, allowing his normal advantages to reassert themselves. He was stronger and faster than any of them, and he was not theirs anymore. 

The asset leapt, fist impacting the handler's face with all the force of his weight behind it, and all the power of his metal arm. 

A gunshot rang out and pain bloomed through the asset's calf, but he landed on the uninjured leg, spinning to face the shooter. He grabbed hold of the handler before he could fall, using him as a shield against another potential gunshot. But the shooter wasn't the only one armed. 

"Stand down!" another man ordered. 

The asset flung the handler at the man who had shot him, twisting out of the way of a burst of gunfire that shattered two of the green panels. The water underfoot made the floor slippery and the asset used that to his advantage to skid between the men without having to put too much weight on his injured leg. He slammed into the new shooter, driving his elbow into the man's solar plexus, grabbing his arm in a metal grip tight enough that bones crunched beneath his fingers. The man let out a howl of pain and the asset snatched the gun as it dropped from the man's grasp. 

He brought his left hand up to block more bullets, sending them ricocheting off into the walls, but there were too many shooters. Another bullet caught him in his right shoulder. 

The asset shifted his stolen gun into his left hand so that pain wouldn't hinder his aim, and he fired several shots in quick succession, perfect aim driving bullets through skulls and splattering the walls and floor with blood and brain matter. 

The man he'd thrown the handler at was still alive, shoving the handler off him to aim his gun again. The asset fired once more and another body splashed down onto the wet floor. 

The room was utterly still apart from the water still spraying down around him, falling in gentle rain over the bodies on the floor. It was possible the handler was still alive. The blow to the head would have done substantial damage, but it was possible he was merely unconscious. The asset walked over to him, limping as each step brought fresh pain to the bullet wound. He had to be certain. 

He raised his gun, aiming for the centre of the handler's forehead. The asset had his finger on the trigger. The shot ought to have been easy. The man was right in front of him, impossible to miss, but still the asset hesitated. 

He didn't shoot. 

Why wasn't he shooting? 

The handler wanted to take him away from Steve. The asset needed to make sure he couldn't. He needed to kill the handler, but his finger still wasn't squeezing the trigger. 

Was there a malfunction in his arm? Or was the problem something deeper? Something embedded in his brain? He had managed to say no to a handler, but he was fighting protocols to do so. There might be a deeper protocol he couldn't override, something which prevented him from killing someone who had been his handler. 

He stood there, frozen, trying to squeeze the trigger and failing. 

Then another explosion bent the door inwards, the metal screeching and creaking in the frame but not quite yielding. The asset spun, but the metal was too solid to allow him a target at whoever was behind. The door was warped, leaving a gap open up near the ceiling. A gap large enough for someone to throw a canister in. 

Smoke poured out of the canister, the gas filling the room fast. The asset backed away, already holding his breath, but there was no way to escape the rapidly spreading cloud. The air filtration in this cell had probably shut down as soon as the power had gone down. The gas would remain for the foreseeable future, and another canister flew in after the first. He couldn't escape the gas and the gap was too small for him to fit through. He considered plans. 

There was no way he could see that would let him out of here, but he wasn't going to surrender without a fight. He leapt at the door, grabbing hold with his right hand, ignoring the burst of fresh pain in his shoulder, and hauling himself up. He couldn't raise himself up high enough to see through the gap given the injury to his shoulder, but he was able to bring his left hand to the gap and fire blindly into the space between the two doors. 

He heard a muffled yell of pain between the gunshots, but then more pain sliced across his right hand. His fingers released, deep cuts down to the bone making it impossible to hold on. He hit the ground and the impact knocked the air from his lungs. 

The next breath in filled his mouth and nose with the strangely sweet taste of the knock-out gas. 

He tried to get to his feet, wanting to continue fighting, but the room was already wavering around him. He stumbled. Pain from his injuries mingled with the taste of the drugs in the air and he found himself falling down again, the room around him growing dark. 

*** 

Steve had been holed up in the office building across from the Tower, high enough up that he could look straight at the windows to Bucky's cell, watching through a scope as Bucky moved around the living room area, while a live feed played on the tablet Stark had provided. He watched Bucky ask for messages and listen to what Jarvis told him Steve had said. Steve was in touch with Stark, so the messages weren't really lies, even if they were misleading. Hopefully Rumlow and anyone else who couldn't be trusted would think that Steve really was with Fury and Stark, half-way round the world. 

He wanted to reach into the screen and offer Bucky comfort. When he heard Bucky make the remark about his shield, he hugged himself because he couldn't get close to Bucky to hug him. It was such a Bucky thing to say, a way of expressing concern while pretending to be assured. 

Steve was watching the screen when the quinjet approached the top of the Tower. He immediately opened comms to Stark. 

"Is the jet flying up to the Tower yours?" he asked. 

"What jet?" Stark started to ask, but then he swore. "'A bright light for all mankind.' The bastard. It's Loki." 

"Is he after Bucky?" 

"Probably not. I think he's picked the Tower to mess with me. I'm on my way back to New York." 

That was the moment that the tablet screen, which had been showing Bucky staring out the window, went black and started displaying an error message. Steve relayed this to Stark, already fastening on his uniform as he did so, ready to fight. 

"Can you see the windows?" Stark asked him. "Are the shutters still open?" 

Steve peered through the scope, wondering what this had to do with anything. 

"They're open," he said. 

"That means Jarvis is still running the show in there, someone's just blocking the signal. The version of Jarvis in my suit is still getting a ping from the main servers." 

"I don't know what that means, Stark," Steve snapped. His worry was eased slightly by the fact that he could see Bucky on the other side of the window, but there was more movement inside the cell. Bucky wasn't alone anymore and tension knotted in Steve's stomach. 

"As long as Jarvis is still up and running, he's still in control of the security systems. If something happens to Jarvis then all the new systems I put in place to protect your Bucky Bear will automatically lock down. As long as the shutters are still open..." 

Almost as if triggered by those words, the metal shutters dropped on the inside of the windows, blocking Steve's view. 

"The shutters are down. I'm going in." 

"If the building's gone into lockdown then every entrance will be sealed," Stark said. "All the doors around your boy will have sealed as well. You might be better leaving things as they are. No one can get to him without blowing half the building the pieces." 

"Someone was already with him! I'm not leaving him with Rumlow in the cell when there's no one to protect him." 

Steve had his shield on his arm and was already out of his little hiding spot. He reached the stairway for the building he was in but there was no time to just run down the stairs. Every second left Bucky in danger. He vaulted over the railings and flung himself across the gap to the railings on the other side, half a storey down, ignoring the dizzying drop to the ground below. He grabbed hold of the outside of the railings, caught his foot onto the edge of a step, and then immediately pushed off again, ending up back on the side he'd started on, but now a floor lower. 

He could drop a floor in two steps, zig-zagging back and forth in the gap in the middle of the stairway, ignoring the way each jump jolted his knees and the tug in his shoulder from repeatedly stalling his fall with his arms by grabbing onto the railings. 

While Steve rapidly descended, Stark was still talking into his ear. 

"The least secure way into the Tower is right at the top, but that's not going to do you much good without an aircraft." 

"Also, that's where Loki is." Assuming it was Loki in that jet. 

"Right. You don't want to go in through the lobby. You'd have to break through three secure doors to even get to the elevator. Your best bet is to go through the parking lot underground. That way, there are just two armoured doors, one at either end of the exit ramp, and then you'll have to force your way into the elevator shaft and climb up." 

"What about stairs?" Steve asked. He'd just about reached the bottom of this flight of stairs and ran out into the street. He ignored all thoughts of road safety and sprinted across the road, jumping on top of one car that was about to hit him and then jumping off to the sidewalk on the other side, ignoring the angry honks from drivers. 

"You'd have to get through another three security doors on the stairs," Stark said. "I bet you're going to regret having me make that building so difficult to get into now." 

Steve reached the unmarked entrance to the Stark Tower parking lot. It was unassuming normally, the sort of garage entrance most people would drive by without a thought, and a couple of streets away from the Tower itself to let people come and go with privacy. Only now, solid metal barred the entrance. 

Steve hesitated, faced with such an enormous barrier, wondering how the hell he was supposed to get in. He didn't have any explosives to blast the thing open. He had his shield and a backup gun just in case. The gun wasn't going to do him any good now so he had to figure out a way to make the shield work for him. He had to figure out the weak point of the door because if he tried to smash through the metal, he'd be here all century. 

"There are electromagnets holding the barrier shut," Stark told him in his ear. "One on the outside, one on the inside. If you can break through the concrete on the right of the door, you should be able to disrupt the power to one of the magnets, but you won't be able to shut off the other one from the outside, so you'll still have to pull against about ten thousand pounds worth of force to get the barrier up." 

Steve wasn't sure what the limits of his strength were, but they had to be higher than ten thousand pounds because Bucky was in danger. It was unacceptable for him to be able to move anything less than that. So he ignored Stark adding, "And that's not actually counting the weight of the door," and set to work breaking through the concrete to find the controls to the electromagnet. 

Steve had no idea what the various electronic components inside the wall were or how they operated, but yanking out most of the wires and punching the humming box until it stopped humming was hopefully enough to keep the electromagnet from playing its part in keeping the barrier locked. 

Then there was more concrete to bash through with his shield. The base of the barrier was embedded a foot deep into the ground, so he had to dig down until he could reach the lower edge and then he shoved the edge of his shield into the tiny indentation where barrier met concrete. He used the curve of the shield like a lever, pushing down with all his weight, all his strength, on the opposite edge to try and force the door up just a little, just far enough to slide the shield in a little further. 

He had to pause for a moment, drawing in deep breaths, letting the shield take the strain for a moment to relieve the ache already starting to set in on his arms. This wasn't going to defeat him. He kept his pause to that moment, aware of how much time he'd already lost just getting this far, and how much time it was going to take him to get up to Bucky. He didn't have time to waste on resting. 

He took hold of the edges of his shield and twisted, straining as the action forced the door to raise up a fraction of an inch at a time. He grunted in effort as he strained, barely able to breathe, forcing all his strength into the twisting of his shield to move the door higher. He heard Stark make some comment in his ear about how it sounded like he was dying, but he didn't have the strength to spare breath to respond. He just focused on the barrier, arms burning with effort as he forced it higher until he could jam the shield in underneath, poised on its edge. He wasn't sure how much weight the vibranium could take or for how long, but for now the sideways shield created a gap underneath that was large enough for him to fit through. He dropped down and rolled under the security barrier. 

The parking lot on the other side was dimly lit by emergency lighting, full of shadows from the parked vehicles. Steve allowed himself a few seconds to look around in case of threat, but there was no sign of movement and any enemy could have come after him while he was working on the barrier. 

It took some effort to get the shield out from under the door again, and the moment he did, the barrier slammed down with a noise that made the whole parking lot ring with echoes. Steve didn't hesitate. He ran for the second security door, the one by the elevators, and began the process all over again. 

His entire upper body felt like it was on fire by the time he got the second barrier raised enough that he could get underneath it, but then he still had to open the elevator doors. At least these weren't sealed shut by powerful electromagnets. They felt almost easy to pull aside after the first two barriers, or at least they would if his shoulders didn't feel like someone was squeezing them in a vice. 

He got into the elevator shaft and looked at the maintenance ladder up into the darkness overhead and he wanted to scream. Only the fact that it was Bucky up there could have possibly motivated him to start climbing, shield strapped to his back, hauling himself up the ladder to the upper levels of the Tower. He tried to take as much weight on his feet as possible, but his aching arms were still needed for the climb and they protested with every rung. Inside his head, he repeated Bucky's name over and over, drawing strength from his desperation. He needed to help Bucky. No pain was going to stop him from doing that. 

The doors at the top of the elevator were awkward to open while he balanced one-handed on the maintenance ladder. If they'd sealed like the barriers into the Tower, he wasn't sure he would have managed it, but these slid apart under the application of force. A trickle of water, strangely pink-coloured, flowed through the crack of the opening doors, but he didn't let himself worry about that. He just pulled the doors opened and climbed inside, already reaching for his shield in case of a threat. 

The first thing his eyes were drawn to were the bodies, blood still weeping from bullet wounds into the water on the floor. The next thing he noticed was the giant hole in the wall of the Tower, just on this side of now-destroyed doors into the heavily reinforced cell. 

"Bucky?" Steve called out, but the only sounds came through the hole. Bucky was gone.


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't feel that retelling the whole Avengers battle was necessary. Just assume that most of the stuff from the big fight scene in the movie happens in more or less the same way. 
> 
> And full marks for everyone who guessed Tony would lie in his security plans.

Steve checked the bodies, just in case, pulling off the gas masks that covered their faces. He recognised members of the security team, but there was no sign of Rumlow. None of them were Bucky either. He hadn't expected them to be, but the fear didn't diminish until he'd checked each one. Some bodies were in the small space between the inner and outer security doors while others were in the cell itself, with the shattered floor panels another testament to the fight that had happened here. 

"Jarvis?" Steve called out, but there was no response from the AI either. 

Steve glanced quickly into each of the rooms of Bucky's cell, just in case someone was still there, just in case Bucky had managed to fight them off and was hiding somewhere in here. Then he went to the hole and looked out, seeing the ropes dangling down towards the ground level. While he'd been fighting his way up here inside the Tower, someone had been taking Bucky away down the outside. 

"He's gone," Steve said into the comms. "Someone blasted a hole in the side of the building and they've taken him." 

"We've got bigger problems right now, Cap," Stark said into his ear. 

"There are no bigger problems to me!" 

"Not even a giant hole in the sky?" 

Stark swooped into view in front of Steve. He took a moment to look inside at the mess and bodies, and then said, "Grab hold." 

He didn't give Steve a chance to question what he was talking about, just grabbed him round the waist and fired his thrusters to lift them away from the Tower. Steve grabbed hold of Stark in that terrifying rush of speed when it felt like they were falling uncontrollably, and then Stark fired the thrusters again, bringing them into land near a cluster of people. Steve recognised Thor and Barton from the pictures in the folder Coulson had given him, but he didn't know who the other two were. He didn't have time to care, or to care about the fact that Barton had apparently broken free of the brainwashing he'd been acting under. 

"How can we track him?" Steve said. "Are there cameras outside your Tower that will show which way they went?" 

"We can track him down later," Stark said. "Right now we have to worry about that." He pointed upwards and Steve turned, seeing for the first time the line of light shooting up from the roof of the Tower, and the strange, gaping maw above through which stars could be seen despite the broad daylight. Even with his mind solely focused on Bucky, Steve could admit that looked like a serious problem. But Bucky was missing, snatched away from a place of supposed safety in broad daylight by people with enough firepower to blast through Stark's security doors. 

"If I don't follow Bucky now, the trail will go cold," Steve said. He knew he was being selfish. He knew that he ought to care about the bigger picture, about all the people in this city and on this planet who might be in danger from whatever Loki was planning, but when he weighed all those lives against Bucky's, there was only one choice. If it came to it, he would choose Bucky every time. 

"There was water on the floor in the Tower, right?" Stark said. At Steve's confirming nod, he continued, "Then it's fine. We can track your boy after we finish saving the world." 

"What the hell has water got to do with anything?" If Stark was lying to him to manipulate him into helping, Steve would punch him so hard he flew out of the back of his armour. 

"I didn't put all the security features in the plans, OK," Stark said. "I know you've got a one track mind, but I promise I can help you track down your boyfriend and we'll all help you fight whoever took him, but we need you to help with..." 

"With the giant monster coming out of the hole in the sky," said Barton, pointing upwards. Steve turned and looked up, seeing the huge... thing moving out of the hole like a transplanted sea monster. More things were pouring out of the hole after it, small aircraft that were racing down towards the city, blasting fire as they went. 

"Time to get angry, big guy," Stark said, patting one of the strangers on the shoulder before jumping up into the air, thrusters bringing him up towards the huge thing in the lead of the alien armada. 

Steve barely had time to be surprised as the ordinary-looking guy transformed into a green giant and punched a space ship out of the air, because then the things were on them and Steve was caught up in the fight. Steve didn't argue about his place in this fight again. He leapt into the fray, shield flying to knock out the small fighters. He had to hope that Stark had been telling the truth, and in the meantime, the knowledge that Bucky had to be somewhere nearby kept him focused on the task at hand. Hunting for Bucky wouldn't do him any good if he got shot by aliens while Steve was looking. 

He had to trust that Stark's secret security features were enough to undo the abysmal failure that was the current situation. There had to be a way to find Bucky and if that meant saving the city first so that he could get Stark's help, then that was what he would do. 

Then there was no time to worry about Bucky, no time to even think. All he could do was the job that was in front of him. That meant saving people. Sometimes it meant hurling his shield at the aliens flying overhead. Sometimes it meant leaping with his shield between people and incoming fire. Sometimes it meant yelling orders at emergency service workers to try and keep civilians out of harms way. He didn't have time to worry about Bucky, but he found himself worrying anyway. Every time he saw part of a building blasted apart, he wondered if Bucky's captors had taken him in there as the world started falling apart around them. 

Steve fought, until even his enhanced body felt the exhaustion setting in. He fought, until the pain of enemy weapons fire he hadn't been able to dodge filled every part of him. He fought, trying with all his power to protect civilians and to just end this onslaught of horror so that he could focus on what mattered most to him in the whole world. 

He fought, as his allies made their way to the Tower to take out Loki and close his portal into space. He found they worked well together, falling into an easy cooperation he hadn't felt since his missions with the Commandos, working out how they others would respond to threats without having to think about it, combining their efforts into becoming a more effective fighting force. In any other circumstances, Steve might have almost enjoyed working with them. 

He fought, as news came in over comms about a missile strike incoming because outside authorities thought wiping New York off the map was the only option for stopping the alien threat. Anger surged through him at that news because it meant that people sitting in safety miles away would be willing to let them all die. It wasn't himself he was angry for, or for all the innocent people attempting to flee in terror from an enemy only to face death from a supposed ally, but for Bucky, who had already suffered so much. It wasn't right that Bucky die here from friendly fire. 

And Steve couldn't help wondering if things might have gone differently if he'd gone with Stark. Maybe he could have helped stop Loki earlier, before things reached this stage. It wasn't like he'd been any good to Bucky staying close. Maybe he should have gone when Coulson asked. 

Maybe all this destruction could have been prevented if he hadn't been so selfish in his desire to protect Bucky at the cost of all else. 

It was Stark, the poster-boy for narcissism, who risked the ultimate unselfish act by grabbing hold of the incoming nuke and flying it in through the portal into whatever lay on the other side. All Steve could do was stare upwards helplessly as Stark flew through the portal and then it was Natasha who found some way to turn the machine off and close the portal. As Steve stared into the sky, watching an act of heroism, all he could think was yet another selfish thought: who was going to help him find Bucky if Stark died? 

That bitter thought was still fresh in his mind as Stark fell and was saved, yet again by someone else, the Hulk catching him out of the air and bringing him safely back down to Earth. Steve felt sick with guilt that all the relief he felt was on Bucky's behalf and not on Stark's. 

Steve might have been created to be the ultimate soldier and a figure of propaganda, but he was no hero, that much was obvious now. Even as they ascended the Tower to take out Loki, all Steve could feel was impatience that this was delaying him in the hunt for Bucky. 

Stark, who looked half dead from exhaustion as they restrained Loki and started making calls about the disposal of the staff and tesseract, looked to Steve and seemed to see what he was thinking. 

"OK, Ice Ice Baby," he said, "now that the intergalactic god of mischief isn't blocking my access to Jarvis, let's see what happened to your boy." He walked out of the room, tapping at his wristwatch, and Steve had no choice but to follow if he wanted to know what was going on. Tony walked them into a meeting room, and made a flicking gesture over his watch. Images sprang to life in the air around them, including footage from the cell. 

"The pulse that took out the main power also knocked out the secondary cameras, but the tertiary ones were recording," Stark said. 

Steve frowned, thinking back to the plans he'd looked over of the security measures. "There were only two sets of cameras on your plans." 

"Yep. One set connected to the main power source for the Tower, and one set on emergency batteries for backup. Perfectly reasonable and expected. No reason why anyone would think to look for another set of cameras which special shielding in case of an EMP that could take out the arc reactor and the backup batteries." 

"Anyone ever tell you that you're a little paranoid," Steve said, but he was smiling as he said it, despite his current fears. Stark's paranoia might be what would save everything he cared about. 

"My mentor and father figure paid terrorists to kidnap me and then ripped my heart out of my chest. Sometimes a little paranoia is justified." He started playing the video and Steve watched as Rumlow brought men into the cell, trying to convince Bucky to leave with him, acting as though this was all part of Steve's orders. He watched as the power went out and Rumlow dropped all pretense, talking calmly about being Hydra and demanding Bucky's obedience. He watched Bucky refuse. He watched Bucky fight. 

He almost cheered as Bucky attacked Rumlow, hoping that the blow did serious damage. He hoped it hurt a lot. 

The fight was brief, Bucky's movements lethal, but he couldn't resist the gas that was released in the room, the same gas that had been provided as a security measure to keep Bucky from being injured if things went violent. Now it was used against him. In the haze of the smoke, the cameras still managed to pick up enough detail to show men in gas masks grabbing Bucky and hauling him from the room. One of the men grabbed Rumlow too. A camera in the hallway outside the cell showed them placing more explosives on the wall while rigging Bucky into a harness so that they could carry him down from the building. 

Steve watched them take Bucky away, but he was already running the scene over in his mind. 

"The water gave him a chance to fight," he said. "They couldn't use the floor against him. That wasn't just some accident of the fire systems, was it?" 

If there were cameras in the cell that hadn't been on the plan, then there were other things too. Stark had indicated that the water was important, but Steve still didn't see how it would help find Bucky. 

"No. The main servers went down when Loki took out the power, which meant Jarvis was shut down, but Jarvis isn't the only AI I've created. There was a guard protocol installed in the cell with its own shielding. While Jarvis is running, its kept in the background, but if Jarvis gets taken out, the guard protocol takes over. All it is designed to do is watch the cell, analyse threats, and make decisions. Releasing the water is what it's meant to do when an enemy has infiltrated the cell, partly because it neutralises the floor defences, but also because it contains a tracer compound." 

"A what?" 

"Yeah, I need to come up with a better name for it." Stark was tapping away at a computer while he talked, splitting his attention almost effortlessly between explaining things to Steve and whatever commands he was inputting on the computer. A map of New York showed up and a cloud of yellow dots started moving away from the marker that indicated the Tower. 

"Bloodhounds released. Beginning search pattern." Jarvis announced. 

"Bloodhounds?" Steve asked. 

"Yeah, I should come up with a better name for them too. Basically, the water in the sprinklers isn't just water. There's an organic compound designed to cling to clothes and skin, and especially hair. Unless your boy's had about a hundred showers or they've shaved him bald, it will be clinging to him. It's not a compound that's found naturally, and it's odour isn't strong enough for human noses to pick up on it, but the bloodhounds are little sniffer drones with no purpose except to sniff out this compound and report back to Jarvis." 

"They'll be able to follow his trail?" 

"They're already on it," Stark said, indicating the map, where the yellow dots were starting to group together in a line away from the Tower.


	32. Chapter 32

The asset rose to consciousness slowly, aware first of the noises of distant explosions and, rather closer, panicked voices. A male voice was asking for assistance in evacuation, almost pleading with someone who the asset couldn't hear. It didn't sound like the other person was giving the answers the man wanted. 

"I don't know how long the Soldier will remain unconscious and there's no power to perform even a field wipe," the man said. "We lost half the team in the extraction and the others... sir, there are aliens out there." 

The asset felt the cold metal of the chair beneath him, the familiar weight of restraints around his arms. He didn't need to try to move to know that his left arm would be imobilised. Only the overheard words kept him from being completely overcome by terror: they didn't have the power to perform a wipe. Even with his current situation, even back in the hands of his former owners, they couldn't erase Steve from his head. Not yet. 

The asset risked opening his eyes, slowly enough that he could peek and see if anyone around was likely to notice, ready to close them again to maintain a pretence of unconsciousness if that would give him a tactical advantage. 

He was in a dark room, the only light coming from a few strips of emergency lighting and a single flashlight that had been propped up in a corner to act as a temporary lamp. The handler was sitting on a chair in the corner of the room, not like _the_ chair the asset was in, but a wheeling, office chair, having someone else inspect his nose. It seemed that the asset hadn't managed to kill him with his blow earlier, but that nose was definitely broken. Bruising stained his face purple and dried blood marked his shirt. 

The man who had been talking was pacing anxiously. He wore a suit instead of combat gear. The asset thought he'd seen the man before, working as a tech when the asset had gone through wipes and processing. There were two other men and one woman, all three in combat gear with weapons ready, spaced evenly around the area the asset could see. Most likely there would be two others positioned outside of his field of vision to complete the evenly-spaced circle. 

The fight would be challenging, given that they were armed and he was not, but he was confident in his ability to win it, if he could get out of the chair. That would be a bigger problem though. The restraints on the chair had been designed to hold him in place when his body was thrashing about in the throes of a wipe. They could hold him against deliberate effort should the asset malfunction and attempt to resist receiving a wipe. They would hold him if he tried to break free now. If he tried to break free of them with his metal arm disabled, he would break his own flesh and bones before he could break the metal of the restraints. 

With that option blocked from him, he considered what his other options might be, what other actions he might be able to take. There didn't appear to be many. 

He could attempt to break free knowing the futility of such an act. He dismissed this possibility as a pointless waste of energy. 

He could argue with the Hydra agents that surrounded him, attempting to plead or threaten or manipulate them in some way so that they would choose not to wipe him. He dismissed this possibility as well. Such actions would invite punishment and prior experience had proven them ineffective. Arguing or answering back brought pain and no benefit. 

He could pretend to be an obedient asset in order to convince them that he didn't need to be wiped. He dismissed this possibility as well. They had seen him malfunction. They had seen him refuse a direct order and attack a handler. They would know that he was not their asset anymore. His breaks of protocol with Steve, such as asking for him to paint his symbol on the arm, would have been enough to demonstrate that he needed wiping. What he did after would be undeniable. There could be no way for him to make them believe he was still their loyal weapon. 

The asset had run out of possible actions. 

The only thing that remained was passivity, to wait and observe. It was possible that these people would make a mistake that he could use to fight his way free of them. It was possible that power would be restored and they would wipe him and all these plans would be for nothing, but the asset tried not to consider that option because the associated fear would make it difficult to concentrate on forming a rational strategy. He would wait and hope for a way out, or hope that Steve's plan had already accounted for this possibility. Steve might be on his way now to rescue him. 

Memories rose through the fog of his mind, perhaps summoned by the echoes of old fears as he found himself trapped but was malfunctioning too much to simply accept it. He had been trapped and afraid before, before Hydra had erased those feelings from him and made him their weapon. He had been afraid, strapped to a table in a lab, with Zola testing chemicals on him and not caring if he died. Steve had appeared over him, transformed and larger, strong and healthy in a way he had never been before, and Bucky's first thought was that they were both dead. He had seen Steve standing over him and he had believed that he had died on the table and that Steve must have caught some fever back home, and now his soul was here to take him on to the next life, a soul that showed the strength of spirit Steve's body had never been able to match. 

Those thoughts had been ridiculous, the asset knew now, but Bucky Barnes had been heavily drugged at the time. He had understood that they were both alive quickly enough and he had understood that Steve had saved him, that Steve had torn his body apart and travelled across half the world to save him, because of course Steve would save him. 

The asset tried to cling to those memories, to the knowledge that Steve had risked so much to save Bucky Barnes all those years ago. He would come to save the asset now. 

Except the other memories followed, memories of another lab and a cell and Bucky Barnes snarling threats at those who tried to condition him, tried to make him into the asset. He had told them Steve was coming for him, threatened them with all the pain Steve would deliver for daring to hurt him this way. They had laughed at him. 

They had shown him the newspapers. When he had accused them of faking the stories, they had shown him video footage and played him recordings of a radio transmission discussing the great sacrifice of Captain America, and how he had died to prevent bombs reaching American soil. 

"He went down with the plane," one of the scientists had told Bucky. "A sacrifice, they called it. He didn't even try to save his own life. He is not coming to save you. He abandoned you to us without even looking because he must have believed you were dead. He didn't try to save himself so he won't be coming to save you." 

That scientist had smiled at Bucky with cruel understanding on her face. Somehow, she had realised what all his words about Steve had really meant and guessed that the affection ran in both directions. She had speculated that Steve had killed himself over Bucky's supposed death, and that knowledge had been what had finally broken Bucky Barnes. He had resisted the torture and the experiments, but the knowledge that Steve was dead had destroyed him. The knowledge that Steve had let himself die because he believed Bucky dead had broken down every last defence that Bucky Barnes had possessed. He had stopped fighting then, because if Steve had given in, then why should he fight? What was the point of trying to get free if there was no Steve to go back to? 

The asset felt these memories fill him. The asset understood Bucky Barnes in a way he hadn't before, and understood his own need for Steve as a consequence. Bucky Barnes had loved Steve and had given up when he was lost. The asset felt a sense of anger filling him as this piece of the past was revealed to him, but the anger wasn't directed at Hydra this time, but at Steve. Bucky Barnes had been filled with grief, but it was the fury that lingered in the asset. He wasn't angry at Steve for giving up on him, but for giving up on himself. Steve had allowed himself to die rather than go on without Bucky and the asset was angry about that because that wasn't what Bucky Barnes would have ever wanted. 

Steve had to come rescue him because the asset needed to tell him how stupid that decision had been. The asset wanted to give Steve a good thump in the arm, not to hurt him, not really, but to drive home the message that dying wasn't allowed. The asset knew that Steve was still out there, that Steve would always come for him, that Steve would defy death itself to save him so long as he knew Bucky was alive, so he would not give up. He would resist in any way he could. Even if the power came back and they tried to wipe Steve from his mind again, he would fight them. 

Somehow. 

***

Stark’s machines flew over the city, hunting out traces of the chemicals that Stark had hidden in the sprinklers, sending back signals of what they found, and following the trails of the strongest scents. The results were displayed on a tablet in Steve’s hand, which he checked frequently as they moved. There were weak patches of trail along streets as presumably Bucky had been inside a vehicle and less of the tracer scent had made it out into the air, but the sniffer bots had identified a stronger pool of scent and, when Steve arrived, he found the wreckage of a van and a truck. The doors of the van were flung wide and there was nothing much to see inside except a dark blood stain that Steve hoped desperately wasn’t from Bucky. 

Steve followed the stronger trail that led from there, glancing at the tablet every few metres for directions. A group of rescue workers tried to flag him down, but Steve reported his location to Stark. The red and gold blur of Iron Man streaked towards the spot to help even while Steve ignored them and ran on. Stark could catch up and Steve didn’t want to lose a second of time. 

The trail dimmed again at a clearer patch of road. Steve’s guess was that Bucky’s kidnappers had found another vehicle, but there was enough to follow and a sharp beeping from the tablet alerted Steve to the fact that there was a high concentration of the scent particles up ahead. A high concentration meant that Bucky had either been there longer, or he was there now. 

As he drew near, Steve could just about make out the black dots of the sniffer bots flying around in darting patterns. They were congregating on the site, mapping out the area around it, but the map on Steve’s tablet didn’t show any trails leading away. 

“I think I’ve found him,” Steve said into his comms. 

“On my way to you,” Stark answered. 

Other voices spoke up in his ear. “I’m better with distance,” Barton said. “I’m going high, going to give myself a view of the front of the building to cover if anyone tries to make a run for it.” 

“I’ll cover the back,” Romanov responded. 

“That leaves you and me going in to flush them out,” Stark said. 

Hulk and Thor were staying with Loki and the tesseract, not wanting to leave either without an appropriate guard. Loki seemed to have calmed down considerably since he’d had his staff removed, but no one wanted to risk him attempting an escape. Steve didn’t want to calculate the lives lost fighting him the first time. Even if Steve had wanted the others to come help with Bucky, he doubted that Thor would have agreed. 

Still, this way would give Steve more people to punch, which was not a bad thing with his current mood. 

He crouched behind a pile of rubble and surveyed the situation. The building was an office block with an electronics store taking up the bottom two floors. The windows were large and filled with displays of TVs and computers, all dark and silent. It seemed the whole block had lost power, which hopefully meant that they wouldn’t be up against too much in terms of automated defences. 

As if reading Steve’s mind, Stark said, “I’ve done a scan of the building. There’s power being generated from a basement level but it doesn’t look like anything above ground has electricity.” 

Stark flew past the building, rounding a corner and disappearing from view again. Hopefully it would look like he was just going from one part of the city to another looking for people to help. Hopefully. There was also a chance that whoever was inside would see him and be prepared for an assault by the Avengers. 

“It would make sense for them to have taken him underground,” Nat put in. 

“Okay,” Steve said. “Barton, Romanov, are you in position?” 

Two confirmations came through the comms. 

“Stark, I’ll go in first through the front. Once I know what we’re up against, we can better plan for what you should do, but be prepared to blast your way in through the back while they’re focused on me. Just be careful. They may try to use Bucky as a hostage.” 

“You sure you don’t want me to take the lead?” Stark asked. “I’m a lot harder to shoot than you.” 

“This is my fight.” 

“Don’t let your emotions cloud your judgement,” Romanov said. “People make very bad calls when angry.” 

Steve knew she had a point and that she only meant the best, but the advice still rankled. 

“I know,” he said. “This is a rescue mission first. Beating the crap out of Nazi traitors is a secondary priority. Bucky is what matters.” 

He wanted to pummel every Hydra agent in the building to a bloody pulp, but he wasn’t going to let that seething anger harm his chances of getting Bucky out safe and sound. 

He adjusted the grip on his shield and then started for the electronics store at a jog. He threw the shield, shattering one of the big windows in a shower of shards and he leapt through his new entrance, grabbing the shield as he passed from where it had embedded into a nearby wall. He ran past displays of stereos and shiny gadgets, aiming for the employees-only area behind the sales desk. He saw the motionless escalators, but they only went up. It was unlikely a secret organisation would leave the entrance to their underground lair on full display but hopefully the back area would reveal what he needed to find. 

The door behind the sales desk was labelled very clearly as being for employees only, with an electronic lock sealing it shut. Steve ignored the lock. He vaulted over the counter and flung his entire weight into the door. The door gave way reluctantly, the reinforced wood breaking only around the lock, but it was enough. He stumbled through into the dark space beyond. 

Only the dim light through the broken doorway let him pick his way between shelves and management desks, but he saw the elevator shaft in the middle of the space. This was also labelled with warnings that entrance to the stock area required senior approval. More locks and code pads blocked the way. Steve guessed that the risk of theft of expensive stock provided a good excuse to keep even general employees out of the lower area. 

The door to the elevator did not give in response to Steve barging his weight against it, and his shoulder throbbed painfully from the attempt. He went for the other approach and jammed his shield sideways into the gap where the sliding doors met and twisted to lever them open. These doors weren’t sealed shut as tightly as the ones in Stark’s Tower, but they were harder to open than a normal elevator had any right to be. His arms still ached from his earlier efforts, but he focused on Bucky and leaned his weight into the shield until the doors gave in with a shrieking of breaking metal. Whatever locks had held them shut gave way and the doors slid open easily. 

He looked down into the darkened shaft, spotting the elevator down at the bottom of the shaft, about two storeys down. Rather than waste the time on a climb, he just jumped down, bending his knees to absorb the impact as his weight clanged onto the metal roof of the elevator. 

"I'm in," he told the others over comms and heard their confirmations that they'd received the message. 

There was absolutely no chance that anyone down here had failed to hear his arrival. Between the breaking glass, destroying the elevator doors, and jumping down here, he had made enough noise to alert everyone in the building that they were under attack. As soon as he broke through the elevator doors down here, he would be facing a prepared enemy force. 

He strapped the shield tighter into position, took a deep breath, and kicked in the elevator's emergency hatch.


	33. Chapter 33

Steve had to break through another set of elevator doors. Thankfully these weren't locked like the ones above, which meant he could simply slide them open by hand. That turned out to be vital because it allowed him to have his shield ready for when the bullets started flying, which they did the moment he opened the doors. 

Steve pressed himself into the narrow line of shelter offered by the strip of wall to the side of the elevator doors. After a moment, the bullets stopped. He didn't believe that it would be because they'd run out of bullets, unfortunately. They were probably just waiting until he came into view again. 

"I might need you to make your entrance soon, Stark," Steve said, risking a quick glance and then pressing back into his meagre shelter. The hallway beyond the elevator was a gauntlet. The only way to get to the enemy was to charge straight down the barrels of their guns, which even he could admit was a ridiculously poor strategy. But Bucky was somewhere beyond those shooters and there was no way Steve was just going to wait here. On the other hand, he wasn't going to help anyone by getting shot in the head. He could picture the look on Bucky's face, Bucky as he'd been back in the war, when Steve suggested something ridiculously stupid. The new Bucky might not look at him with that same expression of frustrated disappointment, but Steve's imagination was enough to keep him from the foolish plan. What he needed was a distraction. 

"Stark, can you send those sniffer bots down here?" 

"Why? We already know they brought Barnes here." 

"Because if the guys with guns are busy wondering what the flying robots are about to do to them, they won't be shooting me." 

"Jarvis is redirecting the bots now." 

Steve poked the edge of his shield out from his little area of cover, not intending it to do anything except prove to the people with guns that he was still there and hopefully keep their attention on him until the moment he wanted it off. A little flurry of bullets came, nowhere near as persistent as before. 

A buzz of bots flew down the elevator shaft, through the openings Steve had made, and out along the hallway. 

"What the hell?" someone demanded. There was another burst of gunfire and a cry of pain. If the gunmen weren't paying attention to where they were shooting, this was the perfect moment to move. 

Steve hurled the shield out at an angle that would set it ricocheting back and forth in the narrow hallway. He charged after it, taking in the layout and positions of the shooters in a heartbeat. His shield had hit two of the shooters, so he launched himself at a third, punching the man in the face and then grabbing him, using him as a shield as another man fired in his direction. He flung the man away and dodged into the melee, the close combat rendering their heavy weapons more of a liability than an asset. Steve was a blur of feet and fists, shoving an elbow into the neck of a woman while aiming a kick to the groin of a man. 

One woman had gone down to the ground but was still conscious and mobile. She reached for a dropped gun and Steve barely avoided taking a spray of bullets to the chest. He dealt a kick to the stomach and then stepped heavily on her wrist until he heard the snap of bones. 

He wasn't trying to kill these people, but he didn't particularly care if his blows to their faces caused brain injuries. By aligning themselves with Hydra, they had declared themselves to be Nazis which meant endorsing all the brutality and evil of that regime. Steve was not going to shed tears over any damage he did them. But he also wasn't going to shoot them in the head while they were bleeding or otherwise injured on the floor, and leaving them here with the weapons would be as foolish and charging in head first without a distraction. He kicked the guns away from his defeated opponents, picked up his shield again, and brought the shield's edge down hard on each of the guns in turn, shattering or warping the casing until he was convinced they wouldn't fire. 

"I've neutralised the first group," Steve said. 

"Ready to move on your mark," Stark said. 

Steve moved slowly down the hallway towards a door at the end. The door was heavy-looking, with solid wood reinforced with metal strips, and both mechanical and electronic locks. He would have to break through that thing by force and then he would be in full view of anyone on the other side. 

Steve didn't want to advocate for Stark blasting his way in blindly, when they had no idea what was on the other side of the door, but he also didn't want to risk getting shot in the head by someone with their full attention on the door. 

"Stark, start now," Steve ordered. 

"On it." 

As soon as he heard the first explosions and felt the vibrations of the blast through the floor, Steve swung his shield at the lock of the door. He hoped that all the noise of Stark breaking through would keep him from being too much of a target. He splintered wood and shattered metal around the lock, and then threw his body weight into the door. He let the momentum carry him into the room, dodging sideways in case of gunfire, before skidding to a halt at the sight of Bucky, strapped into a chair, a gun aimed directly at his head. 

The man holding the gun was standing behind the chair, using both Bucky and all the electronics strapped to Bucky's head as a barrier, but Bucky met Steve's eyes and smiled and for a moment he looked like the old Bucky. 

There was another pair of men in the room. Rumlow was barely recognisable, what with the swollen nose, the bruising around his eyes, and the streaks of dried blood over his skin. He looked a little unfocused, held upright by the man aiming a gun to his head. For a moment, the sight served only to confuse Steve, but then he remembered that they had no reason to know that Stark had hidden extra security cameras in the cell. They were probably trying to convince him that Rumlow had been coerced as a ploy to let him past his guard or to keep him planted as a traitor in the security team. 

"Don't move, Cap," said the guy holding the gun on Bucky. "One more step and I blow your buddy's brains out. What's left of them." The sneer as he said the last part was a mistake. Steve would see this guy pay for that in blood and pain. 

"If you kill Bucky," Steve said, "you will feel exactly how much stronger they made me as I rip you apart, cell by cell." 

A huge crash sounded from overhead. Three pairs of eyes darted upwards and Steve took that moment to leap forward. He grabbed at the gun, twisting it away from Bucky's head, not caring about the snap of bone as he bent the guy's arm where it wasn't supposed to bend. Then he flung himself over Bucky, shielding his body from the spray of concrete and debris that rained down from the fracturing ceiling. 

Bits of debris stung against Steve’s back, but he kept the shield up, covering Bucky’s head from the worst of it as Iron Man landed in the middle of the wreckage. 

There was more gunfire and bullets pinged off Stark’s metal suit before Stark blasted the shooter into the wall. His suit sprouted more weapons, aiming at all those who were left, including the guy Steve had just disarmed. 

“Stand down,” Stark ordered. 

“Hey, I’m on your side,” Rumlow said. 

“Like hell you are,” Steve said, pulling back from Bucky to turn on the traitor, ready to hurt him in a million different ways for daring to hurt Bucky. 

That was when Bucky started thrashing in his restraints. 

“Steve!” Bucky’s voice was frantic, panicked. Steve turned back to him, looking for the source of the fear in Bucky’s eyes, looking for some injury he’d failed to protect him from, but the only sign of hurt were the red marks on his arm where he was fighting against the restraints. 

That was when Steve felt the pain in his own side. He looked down and saw the growing puddle of red on the blue fabric of his suit. One of the bullets deflected off Stark’s suit must have bounced right into him. Now he’d noticed it, the pain rose in a hot wave to swallow him whole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a short chapter but how could I resist a cliffhanger that evil? :) 
> 
> It's not the cliffhanger I think a few people were a afraid of, judging by the comments, but I am a font of many forms of evil when it comes to chapter endings. 
> 
> If you're interested in seeing more of my original writing, I made a [recent announcement on my Tumblr.](https://jessicameats.tumblr.com/post/186278056369/patreon)


	34. Chapter 34

The crashing noises overhead were loud enough to be heard even through the concrete walls and ceiling. The asset wasn’t sure if this meant that Steve had come to rescue him or if someone else was here, or if the noises were the result of the same attackers who were responsible for this building losing power. It seemed those around him didn’t know either. 

“Watch the entrance,” the handler ordered, gesturing to some of those who had been standing guard around the room. They hurried to obey, heading out the door with their guns until there were only four people left in the room, including the asset and the handler. 

“Someone’s breaking in through the elevator, boss,” a voice called through the doorway. 

“As soon as you get a good shot, take it,” the handler ordered, before closing the door and locking it from the inside. He looked about the room, his eyes meeting the asset’s for a moment. He now knew that the asset was awake, but there wasn’t anything the asset could do about it. Nor was there anything he could do about whoever was out there. He hoped it was Steve, but at the same time he hoped it wasn’t. Steve would be walking into an ambush, with all those shooters ready to kill him. The asset knew that Steve wasn’t bulletproof and he would charge straight into an attack without thinking things through. 

The handler continued surveying the room, and the asset recognised the expression of someone trying to find resources to enact a plan and failing. The asset knew that he would have worn that expression not long ago if he allowed his face to show his fears. Only a few minutes earlier, the asset had been wondering how he would survive this without being wiped, but not it was the handler desperate for a solution that wasn't there. He wasn’t sure he would find a way out of this, and that made the asset smile. He hadn’t been able to kill the handler himself, but he would gladly watch him die. He wanted to watch Steve kill him. 

There was gunfire beyond the door, heavy bursts of several people shooting at once and then a quiet that seemed to ring in the ears after all the noise. Had they stopped shooting because Steve had killed them? Or because they'd killed Steve? The asset thought the handler might be just as afraid to find out what the answer to that question was. 

“Use him as a hostage,” the handler told one of the men, gesturing to the asset. He tucked his gun away beneath his shirt and turned to the other. “You, take me as your hostage. If that’s Cap, with any luck we can convince him I’m still on his side. That might let me get inside his defences.” 

The handler didn’t care if the others died, the asset realised. He expected whoever was out there to kill the enemies in this room, so he was trying to pretend he wasn’t one so that he could live. The handler would sacrifice these men like they were nothing. 

A part of the asset knew that sometimes such decisions were necessary. Sometimes, in a combat situation, it was sensible to let some die for the sake of a completed mission. But another part of him knew that Steve didn’t think like that. Steve was a soldier who would kill if he had to, but he didn’t believe that people were disposable. Because Steve was a better person than the handler. 

There was some more shooting beyond the door. 

The asset looked at the handler. “I will tell him.” 

“What?” 

“I will tell him you’re an enemy.” 

“If I’m his enemy, what does that make you? You followed my orders. You hit him. If I’m his enemy, then so are you. You’re not going to say anything.” 

The gunfire changed to shouts of pain and thumps of flesh meeting concrete, and the reverberating ring of the shield impacting solid objects. The asset knew that noise. He knew Steve was here for him. He smiled. The handler wasn't going to win. 

When the door burst inwards, Steve wasn’t distracted by the handler. He disarmed the man who held a gun on the asset, clearly not caring if the handler got shot, and then there was something new attacking, something that destroyed the roof of this room. The asset couldn’t see much because Steve stood over the chair, holding the shield over the asset’s head even while he left his own head exposed, like it didn’t matter if he got hurt. 

But it did matter. It mattered a lot. 

It was the only thing that mattered, when Steve stepped back and the asset got a look at the blood on Steve’s side that hadn’t been there a moment before. 

“Steve!” The asset fought the restraints holding him in the chair. He needed to help Steve. He needed to stop the bleeding. He needed to do something. 

As Steve crumpled to the ground, the asset screamed out with all the rage in his being and tore against the restraints, all his weight and all his power fighting to be free, to be with Steve. 

Something snapped, not the restraint but the back of the chair itself, metal and leather snapping apart and then the asset could move. He was still strapped into pieces of the chair, one leg trapped in place and his left arm still deactivated, but that didn’t matter because he could crouch down beside Steve and press his working hand against the bullet wound in his side. 

“Steve,” he said the name like a prayer. “Steve. Please. Steve.” 

He didn’t care about what was happening around him. He didn’t care about the handler or Stark or the others. He only cared about Steve, the warm pulse under his fingers just pushing more blood out of his body, blood he couldn’t afford to lose. Anaemia, the word surfaced from somewhere in the murky depths of his brain. Steve had anaemia. He couldn’t afford to spare a single drop of blood, and now it was pouring out of him. 

“We need medical attention now. It’s Cap.” 

Stark’s voice was nearby but it sounded faint, muffled, like there were walls between him and the asset. The asset barely registered the words except that it meant someone would come to help Steve. 

“I’m sorry,” the asset said, not sure if Steve could hear him. He wasn’t sure what he was apologising for: for not breaking free earlier, for not warning Steve about the handler as soon as he saw him, for not putting up a better fight back in the cell. For not being able to keep Steve from getting hurt. For the fact that Steve was only in a position to be hurt because he'd come for him. 

There was water on the asset's cheeks. Tears. An asset wasn't supposed to cry, but he wasn't just the asset anymore, and Bucky Barnes would cry for his Steve. 

There was another person coming into the room, a red-haired woman. The asset kept his flesh hand, the only hand that was currently working, over the injury in Steve's side, but he eyed the position of Steve's fallen shield. He could grab it if this woman made a threatening move, but he didn't want Steve to lose a drop more blood than necessary so he waited. He would only move at the last possible moment. 

"The army had already called in everyone they could to assist," the woman said, talking to Stark, but flicking her eyes frequently to the asset and Steve, "They've diverted a couple of pararescue specialists who'll be able to get Steve out of here. They're less than two minutes out." 

"I'll make sure there's a clear path down the elevator shaft," Stark said. 

"That won't be necessary." 

There was movement up above, visible through the large hole in the ceiling Stark had created in his entrance, and then a dark figure was dropping down into the room, wings spread to slow his descent, another following close behind. The asset's attention was dragged from Steve by the sight of two men with metal wings coming into land. 

As the men landed, their wings folded up, slotting into some sort of containers on their backs, and the men were already moving towards Steve. The asset eyed the shield once again, but the leading guy, a black man, crouched down across from him and offered a comforting smile. 

"We'll take it from here," he said. "We'll see that he gets the best possible care." 

Even as he spoke, he was opening up a box of medical supplies, bandages and IV bags neatly stored. The asset knew that he couldn't save Steve by himself. If these people were medical professionals, they might be able to do what he couldn't. But how could he trust them? The enemy had been everywhere, trying to fool Steve. Maybe the enemy were here now, trying to fool him, so that they could hurt Steve and take him away from him. The asset kept his hand on Steve's side, looked the black man in the eyes, and said, "Hail Hydra." 

"What?" The look of confusion on the man's face seemed genuine. It was a weak test, but it would have to do for now as a sign that this man wasn't one of those who wanted Steve dead. 

The asset moved back, keeping his eyes on the black man as he applied a compress to the wound. The other man prepared a bag of something to connect into Steve's arm. 

The asset reached for Steve's shield, using it in quick motions to shatter the bits of chair wreckage so that he could move more freely, and then he kept watching, ready to move in if it became necessary. If they showed a sign of doing anything that would hurt Steve, he would kill them, but they seemed only interested in helping. The two men worked efficiently, talking to each other quietly, using shorthand that the asset couldn't follow but that made their communications more effective. They didn't attempt to remove the bullet here, but applied bandages to prevent further blood loss and stabilised Steve with fluids and oxygen. They got him moved onto a stretcher that unfolded from a surprisingly small storage area against one of the men's legs, talking to the asset and Stark and the woman about the need for surgery. They were going to take Steve to a hospital for treatment of his wounds in a sterile environment. A surgeon would remove the bullet and stitch up any damage to Steve's insides. 

The asset knew that he had to let them take Steve, for his sake, to keep him alive, but he couldn't help being afraid that if they took Steve out of his sight, he might never see him again. 

"Which hospital?" he asked. 

"Metropolitan General," the other medic said. "They still have power and they have some of the best surgeons in the country." 

"Jarvis had called ahead," Stark said. "They're already prepping for Cap's arrival." 

The black medic waved them back, asking for room so that they could take off. They took the stretcher between them, Steve strapped onto it carefully, the fluids and oxygen attached to the stretcher so that they would remain in place during movement. The equipment had clearly been cleverly designed for precisely this sort of scenario. 

The men's wings unfolded and rocket thrusters fired, letting them carry Steve upwards, their movements carefully in sync to keep him steady as they rose together. The display was impressive, but all the asset could think about was Steve being carried out of his sight, somewhere he couldn't protect him. 

The asset studied the sides of the hole, measuring distances. The climb would be easy if his metal arm were functioning, but it was still disabled at his side. It might still be possible, but there was presumably another way in. The woman and Steve had come through the doorway, so the asset started that way. 

Stark moved to block his path. 

"Where do you think you're going?" 

"Metropolitan General." 

"You're not going to the hospital. I mean, you probably should go somewhere with medical professionals because you look like hell and is that a bullet hole in your pants?" 

The asset had been injured in the fight in the cell, but he had barely noticed here, so distracted by the fact of Steve being in danger. Now that it was raised as an issue, he became aware of the pain, but he could endure it enough to walk to the hospital and guard Steve. 

Stark waved a hand, "Everyone is busy freaking out about the alien invasion right now, but as soon as they stop, they'll start freaking out about you again. A whole lot of people are very scared about the idea of you wandering around free, and they will start shooting if you just waltz into a civilian hospital. Rogers will kill me if I let you get shot." 

The asset considered this information. The possibility of getting shot wasn't going to keep him from protecting Steve, but it might necessitate a change in strategy. 

"Rogers will be getting the best medical care money can buy," Stark continued, "and it's not like they'll let you in to hold his hand while he's in a sterile surgical environment because you're seriously not sterile right now. Better that you come back with us to a secure location until the Ice Man can be patched up and then we can deal with the fallout from the fact that these bastards are apparently Hydra." 

He waved at the prone figure of the handler, who had been secured in heavy-duty cuffs while the asset was distracted by Steve's injuries, despite the fact it didn't look like he would regain consciousness for some time. 

"Steve must be protected," the asset said. That fact overrode all others, and the longer he stayed here arguing with Stark, the more chance there was for Hydra to get to Steve. 

"Rogers will be fine," Stark said. "He's in a hospital." 

"You know how Hydra operate," the woman said. "They act from the shadows. They hide their intentions. They're not going to go after Steve in the middle of a crowded hospital." 

The fact that the woman knew how Hydra operated was just more reason to be wary. The asset eyed her, considering how best to take her down if she tried to stop him. 

Stark added, "If it makes you feel better, I can call my buddy Rhodey. He's one of the two people in this world that I trust and he's an Air Force colonel. I can get him to send in his best and most trusted people to act as bodyguards." 

The fact that Stark trusted this Rhodey meant nothing, because the asset didn't trust Stark. He didn't know if Stark's judgement of Rhodey could be trusted. He didn't know if Rhodey's assessment of his people could be trusted. There was too much trust for anything to be certain. The one thing the asset was sure about was that he wouldn't trust anyone else with protecting Steve. 

He raised the shield and prepared to fight. Stark raised his hands and the woman dropped into a crouch. 

A sharp pain stung his leg and he looked down, seeing an arrow stuck into his thigh, only the very point piercing skin. He yanked the arrow free and hurled the shield upwards, but his aim was wavering already and the guy with the bow, perched at the edge of the hole, was able to dodge aside. The shield clanged down out of reach. 

"Sorry," the guy with the bow called down into the hole, as the asset's vision was already beginning to darken. "It's just that there's a truck full of Shield agents unloading half a block away. I thought it best we cut this conversation short before they got it into their heads to start shooting." 

Shield agents, the asset knew, meant Hydra. His last thought as he collapsed forward was that he'd failed. He wouldn't be able to protect Steve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's not stated anywhere in canon where Sam was during the events of Avengers. I'm free to make stuff up. :)


	35. Chapter 35

The asset woke slowly and then all at once, his initial thoughts sluggish and muddled until the instant his memory supplied him with the image of Steve getting shot. That image was like a surge of electricity driving him upwards. He pushed himself to his feet, injuries or not, ready to fight anyone who stood between him and Steve. He came up against a thick wall of the thick, glass-like substance that had made the window of his cell. Beyond that was a large screen showing an image of Steve lying in a hospital bed. In the image, moving just enough to show that this was a video and not just a photograph, a uniformed Air Force officer stood on guard. 

Jarvis' voice broke through the silence. "I am pleased to inform you that Captain Rogers' surgery was successful. He has been moved to a private room in Metropolitan General Hospital for recovery. He is being monitored for complications or signs of infection but the prognosis is positive. Given his enhanced metabolism, he is expected to regain consciousness between one hour and three hours from now." 

"I want to see him," the asset said. He already knew what the answer would be, but he needed to say it anyway. He couldn't just stand here while Steve was hurt and he couldn't do anything to protect him. 

"Mr Stark arranged the monitors to allow you to observe Captain Rogers' condition. When Captain Rogers awakes, you will be able to communicate with him through this system. You will not be permitted to leave this cell until Captain Rogers is recovered and able to make further arrangements. This is for your protection as well as the protection of the general public." 

This was unacceptable. The asset considered his options. He had been unable to break the window of the previous cell, but perhaps it would be possible to break through here if he put more effort in or continued the attempt for a longer duration. He looked down at his left arm, the metal fist closing as he considered this possibility. 

He frowned, opening and reclosing his fist. Beyond his arm, he could see the white bandages around his leg where the bullet had hit him and another that matched the point of the arrow that had pierced him, but the fact that they'd patch him up and keep him from bleeding to death was less of a surprise. 

"My arm has been reactivated," he said, as beyond the transparent barrier and the monitor, a door opened. Tony Stark walked in. 

"Of course I reactivated your arm. It would have been mean to leave you with it just hanging from your side like dead weight. I had to do an itty bitty little scan of it to figure out how to turn it back on. I know you were all super-opposed to the idea of me scanning it, so I guess I should apologise for that, but I figured it was better for you to have the arm than not." 

The asset tried to process this. This man, who was holding him prisoner, who was keeping him from Steve, had restored the function of his arm. Because doing otherwise would have been mean? 

That whole thought process seemed flawed. Perhaps the asset had missed a piece of the explanation or was simply not understanding correctly. 

"Why would you give me back my greatest weapon and then try to hold me prisoner?" 

"Because it's not just a weapon. It's your arm. Besides, 'trying' to hold you prisoner? I hate to break it to you, buddy, but you're not getting out of there, arm or no arm. You're staying right here until Rogers wakes up and we can have a talk about what we should do next." 

"What you should do next about me?" 

"About you. About the fact that the guy recommended to be in charge of your security was secretly a Nazi traitor. About what that implies for other people in Shield, and hell even guys like Pierce and whether they can be trusted." 

"Alexander Pierce is Hydra," the asset said. He had intended to tell anyone who came for him in the chair room about the handler. He would tell them about Pierce as well. Even if something happened to the asset now, someone would know. Stark might tell Steve and stop him getting tricked again. 

"Do you know who lots of people in Hydra are?" Stark asked. 

"Not names. Faces." He was rarely told names. But he had seen technicians and scientists. He had seen strike team members and handlers. He had seen commanders. He had been used to guard important members and execute failed ones. He knew a lot of faces. 

"If I give you a bunch of mugshots of Shield employees, will you be able to identify which ones are Hydra and which aren't?" 

"I won't be able to identify those who aren't," the asset said. "I will only know if I have seen them, and if they let me keep those memories." 

"That's still better than we can do without you. What do you say?" 

The asset considered. 

“I will help you,” the asset said, “if you let me go to Steve.” 

“Look, I’m sorry, but that’s not happening. Shield are going to lose their collective minds when they find out that you were out of custody for a few hours and I need you to be nice and safe when that happens. Besides, what would Steve say if I let you get hurt again so soon?” 

“I want to see Steve.” 

“You can see him right now.” 

“That could be a trick,” the asset said. “Old footage.” 

Stark rolled his eyes. “Jarvis, switch on audio.” He addressed the screen. “Hey, guy on the right. Can you give us a wave and say something to prove this is live?” 

On the screen, the man standing to the right of the bed looked towards the camera. He raised a hand and said, “This is live, sir.” 

But that too could have been a trick. They might have recorded several segments of video so that Jarvis could play the relevant pieces where necessary. The lack of movement on the footage generally would allow for the edits to be unnoticeable. He needed to do a test of his own. 

“Raise your left pinky finger to your nose and say ‘piroshky’.” The asset hoped that by throwing in a word of Russian, he would prevent his choice of test from being predictable. 

At the instruction, the man on the screen touched his nose with the smallest finger on his left hand and said, “Pirosky?” His pronunciation was appalling, but it was the word. The highest likelihood was that the footage was genuinely live. There was still the possibility of a trick, but it was vastly reduced. That didn’t mean that the guards watching over Steve could be trusted. 

The asset glared at the man on the screen and said, “Hail Hydra.” 

The man’s eyes flicked to the neighbouring guard, standing on the other side of the bed, and then back towards the camera. “Do you want me to repeat that as well? Because I don’t feel comfortable saying that, sir.” 

It wasn’t a very good test. If the guard was genuinely Hydra, he could easily lie and pretend not to be, and the test told the asset nothing about the guard next to him or anyone else in the room. Only if the guards had proudly echoed the phrase would he have learned anything and the chances of that happening were always slim. 

“Jarvis, cut audio,” Stark said. 

“Audio transmission disabled,” Jarvis informed him. 

Stark turned back to the asset. “Look, nothing’s going to happen until Steve wakes up, but you can help us out in the meantime. If you really care about figuring out who’s Hydra and who’s not, you can help by pointing a few people out to us. Then we can look into their connections and hopefully figure out the rest.” 

The asset brought back his left arm and swung a punch into the transparent barrier. There was no obvious result apart from the noise of the impact and the way the blow jarred his arm and shoulder. He pulled his arm back and tried again, putting his weight and power into the move. 

“Try not to hurt yourself doing that,” Stark said. “I’m going to get you a list of maybe Hydra people in case you’re ready to help by the time you figure out you’re not escaping that cell, arm or no arm.” 

The asset suspected as much by about the tenth punch, but he continued, bringing his fist back and driving it into the wall over and over. His shoulder ached from the repeated impacts. His leg ached from the bullet wound he’d received earlier. But still he stood there, punching over and over, because he was trapped away from Steve and he couldn’t trust anyone who was with him. 

But when Jarvis said, “Mr Stark has compiled the first portion of the list,” the asset stopped punching the wall. 

“I can display them in the corner of the screen so that your view of Captain Rogers is not hindered. Mr Stark has asked that you use a scale of one to five to indicate your knowledge of their allegiance. A three would be a neutral score, which would mean that you don’t know one way or the other if the person is part of Hydra. If you believe the person to be Hydra but are not certain, say four. If you are confident they are Hydra, say five. On the reverse, if you believe a person to not be Hydra, say two and if you are confident that they are not, say one. Do you understand?” 

“Yes,” the asset said. He understood. And he would help. It was clear that Stark would hold him here no matter what the asset said, and this could be helpful to Steve. Stark and Steve were allies, or at least appeared to be. If Stark was an enemy, was working with Hydra, then identifying agents would tell him nothing he didn’t already know. If Stark was working against Hydra, then this information would help Steve. It was about the only useful thing he could do right now. 

He needed to be useful and he had no choice but to make his own decisions about how to do that, because Steve wasn't here to give him orders. He was an asset, but he'd been Bucky Barnes once and Bucky Barnes had been capable of deciding for himself. The asset would decide to do this, to accept tentatively the concept that Stark was trying to help Steve and to work with him to identify Hydra agents. It was what Steve would want. 

The first image appeared on the screen. It was the handler, before the broken nose. 

“Five,” the asset said without hesitation. The image changed and the asset wanted to punch something again because Jarvis had displayed an image of Steve. 

“One,” he growled. 

The image changed to an unfamiliar face. “Three.” 

And so it continued. There were a great many threes. A lot of faces, he didn’t recognise at all or that seemed mildly familiar but that might have been people he’d seen on missions or while travelling to missions. He didn’t have enough evidence to say. There were some fours, where he thought that a person was Hydra but the pose of the photos or a change in style of hair but certainty difficult, especially with the holes in his memory. 

After perhaps fifty faces had come and gone, a new face appeared, this of a black man with an eyepatch. He did look familiar and it took the asset a full minute to identify why. That man was Nicholas J Fury, Director of Shield. The asset knew him from intelligence files, which would not have stated his allegiance one way or another, but he also remembered conversations, Pierce complaining about him. 

“Two,” he said. The first two he had given through the whole sequence. 

The faces continued. A few later, Pierce’s face appear and the asset gave a very definite five. After another long series of threes, Stark’s face appeared. 

The asset hesitated. Giving the wrong answer might cause offence, but the asset didn’t want to be overly optimistic in case he was incorrect and Steve was tricked because of the asset’s information. But Stark had fought against the handler. The handler had waited until Stark was gone before trying to steal him back. Stark had called for medical aid for Steve instead of allowing him to die. 

“Two,” the asset said at last. It was as confident as he was willing to get. 

The red headed woman, the two pararescue men who had helped Steve, and the guy with the bow and arrow who had shot him, all of them received three when their pictures appeared. He wanted to give the pararescue guys a better score because they'd helped Steve, but he wasn't going to take risks based on a few minutes of interactions with them. 

The asset had long since lost count of the number of faces he had seen and numbered when the rest of the screen drew his attention. Rogers shifted slightly in the bed, a faint movement of his head. He was waking up. The asset fell silent, staring at the screen. 

“We can continue this exercise later,” Jarvis said, and the face disappeared from the corner of the screen. “I am enabling audio transmission.” 

“Steve?” the asset said. 

There was a faint murmur from the bed of, “…ky?” 

“I’m here, Steve,” the asset said. 

Steve shifted again, eyes opening and blinking. He looked about the room in confusion and then his eyes fell on the camera. The asset wasn’t sure if Steve could see him through this. 

“I have a video feed of you,” the asset explained. 

“I see that,” Steve said, his words blurring together slightly, like he might fall asleep again at any moment. His wriggled his fingers in what might have been an attempt at a wave and the asset pressed his own right hand against the transparent barrier, the closest he could manage to reaching out and making contact. 

“You okay?” Steve asked. 

“I’m not the one who was just in surgery, pal,” the asset responded, not sure why the last word slipped in there, but it felt right. Steve must have thought it was right too, because he managed a little smile. 

“’m’okay,” Steve murmured. 

The asset nodded. Steve was awake. Something unclenched inside him. He managed a smile.


	36. Chapter 36

Steve was ready to get out of the hospital bed within about half an hour of waking up, but the doctors at the hospital didn’t agree with his assessment. The talked about muscle damage and internal bleeding and the need for rest. They advised he not even attempt to sit up until his core muscles had a chance to heal. He knew that they probably made a good point. Steve knew that he healed faster than everyone else, and this was far from the first bullet he'd had to deal with, but even he didn't heal up in a few hours. But it was still frustrating as hell to be trapped in a hospital bed after all that had happened, while there was so much to be done and Hydra to be dealt with. 

Not even Bucky saying over the monitor, “You need to listen to the docs, Stevie,” in exactly the same tone he used to use when Steve wanted to get up and play as a kid could make him feel better about the situation. 

Aliens had invaded, Bucky had been kidnapped and then recaptured, people were going around declaring themselves Hydra, there was a mind control staff that was still around somewhere, and he had to help deal with all of that. He wanted desperately to get somewhere he could see Bucky in person, not with layers of technology between them. He wanted to talk to Stark about the fact that Rumlow was Hydra and make a plan for how to deal with that and all it implied. 

He couldn’t just stay here, trapped and useless in a bed, while there was so much to do. 

But on the other hand, even arguing about getting up made his stomach hurt, despite the IV of painkillers, which was probably not a good sign. Steve yielded for now and closed his eyes, hoping he would feel better after a little nap. 

When Steve woke again, Bucky was still watching him on the screen but now he had a visitor in the hospital room: Stark. He was standing in the corner of the room talking quietly to one of the doctors. 

“Stark,” Steve said, “what happened with Rumlow?” 

“Not a subject I want to discuss in a public space,” Stark said. “We should wait until you’re somewhere secure before we have that conversation.” 

“Given that the docs won’t even let me sit up, that might take a while. I need to know.” 

"I've actually been talking to the docs about exactly that. We don't want you up and about while you're still hurt, but we can airlift you back to the Tower so we can have security and the hospital can get an urgently needed room back." Almost as an afterthought, he added, "And so that your love buddy there doesn't injure himself trying to break free to come cuddle you." 

He gestured towards the screen where it looked like Bucky was plotting to murder Stark. Steve wasn't sure if it was because of the ridiculous names or because Stark was going to be an accomplice in getting Steve out of the hospital. 

A plan was put in place and Steve agreed to it because it was his best bet at getting out of here any time soon, and he wanted to see that Bucky was safe in person, not just over a computer screen. He wouldn't really feel satisfied that Bucky was safe until he could reach out and touch him. So Stark made arrangements and doctors gave him a final check to make sure his condition was as stable as it was going to be. Steve had to sign various bits of paperwork taking responsibility for the decision to leave the hospital and essentially promising not to sue them if he dropped dead outside of an official medical facility. Within a couple of hours, Steve was moved onto a gurney and strapped in place, which made Bucky's face on the monitor look murderous again. Steve guessed he had a lot of bad experiences with being strapped to things. Steve remembered the table in Zola's lab and could only imagine what Hydra had done to Bucky after his fall, what other straps and restraints might have been involved. 

"I'm fine, Buck," Steve said. "I could break through these in a heartbeat if I needed to. They're to keep me from falling off while I'm being moved, nothing worse than that. They're just to keep me safe." 

Bucky didn't argue, but he didn't look any happier either. 

Two orderlies wheeled Steve through the hospital while Stark and the Air Force guards who were watching over him for reasons Steve hadn't figure out yet all escorted him. Stark was carrying the monitor, so Bucky could continue to watch even while they moved. 

They were taken up to the helipad while a helicopter with the Stark logo emblazoned on the side was waiting for them. One of the Air Force guys got into the pilots seat while Stark climbed up behind him and the others lifted Steve into the back, collapsing the legs of the gurney so that he could be slid inside, the gurney attached to the floor of the passenger compartment. 

"Has anyone checked the vehicle for explosives attached to the engine or flight controls?" Bucky asked, over the monitor. 

Stark rolled his eyes but he put on a pair of oversized sunglasses and called for Jarvis. A moment later, Jarvis' voice emerged from Stark's phone. "No explosives or other unauthorised devices detected." 

Bucky still didn't look happy. 

"Relax, Buck. I'll be with you before you know it." 

The signal on the monitor was obviously more of a challenge during the flight, because the image pixelated and distorted a few times, but it never died. He could keep looking at Bucky and Bucky could keep looking at him for the whole of the short flight across the city. From his prone position, strapped into place on the floor of the chopper, Steve couldn't see anything out the windows but sky, and he had a headset on to protect his ears from the noise so he couldn't talk to Bucky, so the journey seemed long despite its actual shortness. 

Steve was glad when the helicopter set down on the half-wrecked roof of the Stark Tower and Banner was there to help him out of the helicopter. 

"Everything set up?" Stark asked, jumping from the front of the chopper. 

"I told you I'm not this sort of doctor, but yes, we've got a room set up as an impromptu hospital." He gave Steve a smile. "I'm glad you're okay." 

Banner took charge of Steve's drip as they moved him into the Tower. The elevator still had power, so it wasn't long before they were wheeling him into a bedroom a few floors down. There were medical monitors set up around a large guest bed and Steve had no doubt this would be a whole lot more comfortable than the hospital room. It was furnished more like an extravagant hotel room, complete with widescreen TV on the wall. 

"I'll go get your buddy before he starts trying to break my walls again," Stark said, leaving Banner to hook up the monitors and attach the drip to a stand by the bed. 

"I don't mind doing this," Banner said, "but I want to remind you that I'm not a licensed physician in this country. I can't legally prescribe you anything and I'm definitely the wrong person to get involved if there are complications from the surgery and you need to be opened up again." 

"I'm pretty sure my healing factor has kicked in now," Steve said. He ran his hand over the gauze bandages at his side. "Now that I'm not actively dying, I should be fine." 

Banner gave him an unimpressed looked. "I know you're not a licensed medical practitioner either." 

Steve decided it was best not to argue on that point. 

He was saved by the door opening and Bucky hurrying in. Bucky reached the bedside and looked Steve up and down before saying, "Don't do that again." 

"I'll try not to." 

"You have a shield. You should use it to shield yourself once in a while." He sounded so much like that old Bucky that it nearly brought tears to Steve's eyes. He should have known that the thing that would bring back Bucky's old behaviours would be getting hurt. Bucky had always been such a fuss about him when he'd been kill or injured. That was clearly ingrained in his DNA so that even mind wipes hadn't been able to get rid of it. 

"I'll bear that in mind," Steve said. 

Bucky gave an unimpressed little huff. "I will protect you now. I'm your asset. I will guard you from your enemies." 

Steve didn't like Bucky describing himself like that, much as he liked the sentiment behind the words. 

"You're a person, not an asset." 

"I'm your person." 

"You're my friend, and I'm yours." 

Bucky nodded, accepting that. He reached out towards the bed and Steve raised his own hand from the soft surface so that he could Bucky's. The fear that had been part of him since the moment the quinjet had approached the tower was finally starting to ease. He and Bucky could have a long talk about personhood and autonomy on some other occasion, when Steve could at least sit up straight to do so. 

"Much as I hate to break up this touching moment," Stark said from the doorway, "we do have important things to discuss. I called Fury and asked him here to discuss the fallout of the situation. He's on his way up. I figure this will be as good a briefing room as any. Jarvis, privacy mode for two hours." 

As Jarvis announced the acknowledgement of the privacy mode, Barton came into the room to join them. It didn't look like Banner was leaving, so this was presumably meant to be a group briefing for the Avengers, not just a private thing with Stark and Steve. 

"Where's Romanov and Thor?" Steve said. 

"Thor took the horned menace back to Asgard and Romanov's on babysitting duty. I talked the Shield agents who were working clean-up into letting us bring what's left of your security team back here for 'protective custody' but I figured you wouldn't want Shield agents we don't know to be watching them. We'll have to fill her in on what we decide afterwards." 

Just as he was finishing up, there was a ding of an elevator's arrival somewhere beyond the door. A moment later, Fury walked into the room and his eye fell on Steve in the bed. 

"I wasn't aware you were hurt in the alien invasion," Fury said. 

"This happened after," Steve said. He wasn't sure how much Stark had filled Fury in about the situation with Bucky. Clearly he hadn't told him everything, because his gaze fell on Bucky now and his one visible eye narrowed with disapproval. 

"Is there a reason why the Winter Soldier is wandering around freely?" he asked. 

Steve opened his mouth to say something but Bucky got there first, addressing Fury directly. "My name is Bucky." 

Maybe that conversation about personhood would go better than Steve had been expecting. He wondered what had changed to make Bucky accept that name, or at least to allow other people to call him by it. That wasn't a question Steve was going to ask with others in the room though. 

Fury continued to stare suspiciously at him. "Whether you accept that name or not is far from the point." He looked at Stark, "I thought the point of releasing him to you was that he would be contained by the best security you could build." 

"Right now, the best security is the fact that he wants to fuss over Cap like a mother hen. So long as Rogers is bed-ridden, we'll know exactly where to find him. Besides, it's better he's here with us than being guarded by Hydra." 

Stark clearly hadn't filled Fury in on that point because his eye went wide. 

"Hydra has infiltrated Shield," Steve said. "Rumlow and at least the majority of the security team were working for them. I'd put money on either Ward or Sitwell as well, if not both." 

"We already have confirmation about Ward," Stark said. "I gave Barnes some pictures of Shield agents and asked him to identify any he recognised as being Hydra double agents. He didn't know about Sitwell, but he recognised Ward." 

"You expect me to trust a Hydra assassin about the identities of Hydra spies?" 

"If it makes you feel better, you were one of the three people who he identified as not Hydra." 

"Probably not Hydra," Bucky said. "I don't have confirmation of you and Fury." 

Stark shrugged. "Steve was definitely not Hydra. You and me were only maybes." 

"And me?" asked Barton. 

"Insufficient information to make a determination," Bucky said. 

"Most of his answers were indeterminate," Stark said. 

Fury put in, "We still have no confirmation that his information is accurate." 

"I threw in some red herrings to try and trip him up. I stuck some stock photos in the mix and headshots from 'about our employees' pages from a kindergarten and a small bakery and an amateur theatre company, places that there would be no reason for Hydra to infiltrate. He didn't pick any of the fake pictures, but he did identify a number of Shield staff and politicians as Hydra. Given what happened with Rumlow, I'm inclined to believe him." 

"I originally dismissed the idea of one of the security team being compromised," Steve put in, "because the odds against a spy just happening to be picked for this duty were so extreme, plus the evidence that Ward and Sitwell found. But if Rumlow was Hydra, which he admitted to, then it makes sense that Ward was also a spy who planted the evidence at the restaurant. And if an entire security team plus another agent were spies, then it implies a massive portion of Shield must be compromised." 

"Not just Shield. Bucky boy there pointed to Alexander Pierce as well." 

That made sense. Pierce had recommended Rumlow for the role. If Pierce was Hydra, then of course he would have positioned his own people. He'd been manipulating Steve to mistrust Fury from the start. 

Tony touched some things on his phone and a number of photos appeared on the large TV screen set up on the wall across from Steve's bed. Pierce's face was on there, as was Rumlow's and Ward's, and a few dozen others. 

"Pierce turned down the Nobel Peace Prize," Fury said. He sounded dazed. "This can't be right. Hydra still existing or a new group using the old name is a possibility. Neo-Nazis have been a problem lately. Some of them infiltrating Shield is a possibility, but not to this extent. You can't expect me to believe that more than forty Shield agents are Hydra." 

"These are just the ones Barnes recognises," Stark said. "Given how long he's been your prisoner, and the fact he wouldn't have been going around shaking hands with every spy on the books, you're talking a lot more." 

"For this to be true, Shield would have to be corrupt to the core," Fury said. 

"Yeah," Steve agreed. "I think that's the only conclusion that explains the evidence at this point." 

Steve thought Fury would argue or bluster, deny that it could possibly be true, but instead he looked at them with a grave expression on his face and said, "Show me the evidence."


	37. Chapter 37

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may have made a terrible mistake. I had an idea for yet another Winter Soldier centric fic and I thought, "I'll just write a little bit of this, to get the idea out of my head, and then I'll get back to the big WIP I need to finish." I may have written several chapters of the new idea and had to force myself to come back and write more of this one so that I don't end up leaving it hanging. 
> 
> Curse the lure of the new and shiny. I've decided that I'm not going to post any chapters of the new, shiny fic until I finish this one. I have to actually finish my WIPs.

Watching the video of his fight against the handler, the asset felt the same surge of terror at the image of himself refusing the order, but Steve's hand in his gave a gentle squeeze. Steve wasn't upset with him for disobeying orders. Instead, Steve gave him a little smile and murmured, "I'm so proud of you," and the asset's heart fluttered in his chest. The knowledge that Steve was glad that he had turned against Hydra made that pain and fear worth it. Any amount of pain or fear would be worth it if it made Steve proud of him. 

Fury watched the video to its end, seeing the fight, before asking that it be rolled back so he could rewatch the point where the handler mentioned being Hydra. He watched also the point where the asset struck the handler in the face and broke his nose, studying the blood that flowed from the injury. 

"Well, his blood's red," Fury said. "So that rules out one possibility." 

The asset wondered about that, wondered what Fury had expected to see. He stayed silent, waiting for someone else to speak, not daring to put a voice to curiosity that it wasn't his place to have. 

When Fury had finished with the video, he turned to the asset and said, "You knew he was Hydra? That was why you obeyed the order in the take-out?" 

The asset glanced towards Steve for approval before answering. "Yes." 

"You see why that makes it difficult to trust you? Why didn't you tell us about this sooner?" 

"Because he knew he was being watched every minute," Steve said, before the asset could explain. "Because I introduced Rumlow as part of the security team. He knew that Hydra was watching him and he was scared. As soon as he figured out a way to tell me, he did." Steve explained about the Morse code message hidden in the hug. Fury didn't seem convinced but he stopped arguing. 

The asset was glad because he wasn't sure he was capable of explaining his own though processes, how he had decided to be Steve's asset instead of Hydra's, or how much time he had spent in that cell before he came to that decision. The fact that he hadn't decided to be Steve's right away might cause mistrust. Even the very fact he had chosen might not help Fury trust him, because a weapon that could choose who he fought for was unreliable. Fury might have worried that he would change his mind again and choose to belong to someone else instead, even though the asset doubted that would ever happen. 

He couldn't be sure though, because he had once thought that belonging to someone other than Hydra was an impossibility. At least, he would have thought that if the idea had ever crossed his mind, but it had been so far beyond the realm of possibilities that he'd never even considered it. 

He did feel he ought to say something though, so he said, "I'm Steve's asset." 

That seemed to upset Steve again. "You're a person, not a piece of property, Bucky. You don't belong to anyone except yourself." 

The asset didn't know what to do about owning himself. Belonging to Steve was much easier. He would have to demonstrate to Steve that he could be a good asset so that Steve wanted him to be his. He could show his loyalty, to Fury and Steve, by ridding the world of Hydra. 

"When you worked for Hydra," Fury said, "you had information on Hydra bases and protocols? Pass codes? Drop sites?" 

"Most of that information was provided only for an individual mission and then wiped on the mission's completion," the asset said, "but I retain some of it." 

"You're going to tell us everything you know so we can put together a plan of attack, but we have to keep this strictly confidential. We pick the people involved with extreme care and vet them before they get any information, even if they're people we trust." He asked Stark, "Did you show him Agent Hill and Agent May when you were getting him to assess potential Hydra spies?" 

"Hill, yes. He didn't know about her. I don't know about May. We'll have to check Jarvis' record when privacy mode ends." 

"I want them in on this," Fury said, "but if you'd asked me yesterday, I would have told you that there was no way Pierce was a secret Nazi. I can't be sure even of them. Everyone in Shield is a potential suspect." 

"What about people outside of Shield? I want to bring Rhodey in," Stark said. "I trust him absolutely and he agreed to help with Steve's bodyguards in the hospital." 

"For now, we bring no one in," Fury said. "We interrogate the survivors from the security team and we dig through records looking for patterns, connections between those Barnes identified as Hydra. If this conspiracy goes as deep as we think, we need information before we can act. Those of in this room plus Romanov will be the entire team for now." 

"I only worked with May once," Barton said, "but I'd sure as hell like her on our side if we can trust her." 

Fury nodded. "Barton, you start going through Shield records. Check every file we have on May and Hill, see if they come up clean, and then start working out from the suspects Barnes identified. Romanov will be in charge of interrogating the prisoners. Stark, see if your computer analysis can give us any ways sifting through Shield records and personal connections and highlighting potential suspects." 

"And me?" asked the man who the asset had been informed was called Banner. 

"Dr Banner, I feel this may be outside your area of expertise, but perhaps you could assist Barton with the analysis of records. Sergeant Barnes, I will expect your detailed record of all the information you can remember from your time with Hydra." 

The asset realised Fury was talking to him and nodded. He wasn't sure about that name. He had accepted the name Bucky because it was the one Steve had given him. He had taken it, claimed it for himself, because it was part of being the asset Steve wanted him to be, but Sergeant Barnes felt like another person altogether, a step too far away from who he was capable of being. 

"And me?" Steve asked. 

The asset spoke before anyone else had a chance to, "You got shot. Your only job is lying in bed and getting better." 

He didn't even question whether he had the right to give that instruction, to issue Steve commands, not until the words had left his lips. 

"I have enhanced healing. I'll be fine in a few days." 

There was something familiar about the wave of frustration that ran through the asset. An image came into his mind of a face flushed pink with fever, and a child's voice insisting that he was fine, that he should be allowed to go and play. 

"You will keep your ass in this bed, Rogers, or I will tie you to it." Threatening a handler with physical restraint was beyond unacceptable, but the words felt right and Steve seemed nothing more than mildly irritated and defiant. He glared at the asset, but there was nothing in his expression to make the asset worry about punishment. 

"I'm perfectly capable of reading files while lying in bed." 

"If you really want to help," Fury said, "you can be another pair of eyes going over Hill and May's records, in case the others miss anything. We don't want to tell anyone about this without triple-checking." 

The asset was still annoyed that Steve was being given work, but at least this was work he could do without moving from the bed and if he felt like he was being useful, perhaps that would convince him to stay where he was for longer. The asset could only hope so. He felt that familiarity again as he considered the problem of keeping Steve still long enough that his body could recover. 

"Were you always a pain in the ass when you were hurt?" the asset asked. 

"You were just overly fussing," Steve replied. The asset took that to mean yes. 

As the group dispersed to begin their work, the asset had no intention of leaving Steve's side. Thankfully, Stark provided them both with tablet devices. He stressed that they shouldn't get them mixed up as Steve's had a higher access level than the asset's. The asset's only allowed him to view more images provided by Jarvis for assessment, access a notes application to write down his recollections, and access a map on which to mark the locations he could remember. Steve's device presumably gave him access to Shield databases because he spent some time reading files on the screen. 

The asset worked quietly for a short while, aware of the way Steve kept glancing over at him from the bed. 

"I didn't say earlier," Steve said out of nowhere, "but I'm really proud of you for standing up to Rumlow like that, for deciding for yourself. I know that couldn't have been easy." 

The asset's flesh hand started to tremble slightly at the memory. He clutched the tablet slightly harder to still the movement. 

"It was difficult," the asset said. "I was trained not to disobey. But you are better than Hydra. I would rather be your asset." 

"Buck... Oh, Bucky, we're going to have to have a long conversation about autonomy at some point. Or better yet, we'll find a therapist who's qualified to actually have that conversation with you. I think that's going to take a whole lot of therapy." 

If he was to be Steve's asset, he knew that he should agree with what Steve said, to accept that he knew best. At least, to accept that he knew best on subjects that didn't involve self-preservation, because the asset had no illusions on that front. But he also knew that Steve didn't want to hurt him. 

"I don't want therapy," the asset said quietly. He tensed, bracing himself for a blow that he knew wouldn't be coming. He knew Steve wouldn't hit him, that he wasn't in a condition to hit him right now, but still he expected some pain for daring to express an opinion, much less one that went counter to a handler's wishes. 

"Why not?" Steve asked. 

"Therapies hurt," the asset said. "They gave me nerve therapy to help me withstand pain. The post-pocedure wipes weren't strong enough to make me forget how much it hurt." 

He wasn't sure if the therapy had even worked, or if the lingering memory of the fire surging through his nerves, burning him from the inside out, had simply taught him that he was capable of surviving any pain. He'd reached a point beyond screaming and now he could endure a high level of punishment without showing undue physical signs of pain. Perhaps the nerve therapy meant that he didn't feel the pain as much. Perhaps all the nerve therapy had done was teach him there was no point in showing it. 

He knew there had been other therapies, treatments designed to make him stronger or faster. He had endured them all, but each one brought pain that would distress Steve. Even talking about them now seemed to distress Steve. 

"No, Bucky. No." Steve reached out and grabbed the asset's hand. "That's not what I meant at all. Therapy is... it's talking. It helps you deal with emotions and think through issues. It helps you sort out the contents of your head so you can think more clearly. I was... Shield sat me down with a therapist when I woke up after the ice to talk about how it felt to have my life basically ripped apart. I'm not saying it will be easy, especially after everything you've been through, but it's not physical pain. It's just talking, trying to find a way to be healthy again, inside your own head." 

The asset frowned as he let Steve's words wash over him. Perhaps he did need help thinking properly because he couldn't quite grasp what Steve was talking about. The idea of talking about emotions was strange, especially for an asset who wasn't supposed to have any emotions. Weapons weren't supposed to feel. 

But Steve wanted him to be a person. That was what he said. 

The asset would probably need a great deal of help to achieve that. He may have been Bucky Barnes once, and Bucky Barnes had been a person, but the asset wasn't sure he remembered how to be that person. The few bits and pieces that had surfaced from the hidden recesses of his mind weren't enough to construct a whole person. 

But if that was what Steve wanted him to be, he would try. 

"I'll go to therapy if you think I should," he said. 

The smile on Steve's face when he said that made it all worth it. Even if this didn't make him into Bucky Barnes again, if it could make Steve smile like that, he would do it as much as necessary. Despite his misgivings about the topic of therapy, he managed to smile back. 

The asset's hand was still in Steve's, their fingers laced together, and it didn't feel like quite enough. The asset got up from his seat beside the bed and lay down beside Steve. Steve was under the covers, the asset above, but they were lying side by side, their arms pressed together, their fingers still linked. It felt right, like this was where the asset belonged. Where he had always belonged, he just hadn't known it until now.


	38. Chapter 38

Steve didn't want to disturb Bucky, who had fallen asleep with his head leaning against Steve's shoulder while they both worked on their respective tablets, but his bladder had been an increasingly insistent pressure for the past half hour. Steve wasn't ready to go into battle with a conspiracy of Hydra spies, but he was perfectly capable of walking across a room to a bathroom. Still, the knowledge that Bucky would disagree was yet another reason not to disturb him. 

Steve inched his way sideways across the bed, the movement making Bucky shift a little but not wake. He adjusted the pillow as he moved so that Bucky's head would remain supported. Steve managed to get a foot down onto the carpeted floor and pushed himself upright. The bed shifted as his weight left, and Bucky frowned a little in his sleep, almost seeming to disapprove of this already, but his eyes stayed closed as Steve stood. 

Steve's stomach throbbed with pain at the action, but he'd endured worse and it wasn't like he was attempting to climb a mountain. He took a few cautious steps across the room towards the door to the bathroom. He was able to hold himself upright without much difficulty, the soreness in his stomach nothing too much to be concerned over. He made it inside, and if he leaned against the back of the toilet to hold himself upright while he emptied his bladder, then no one needed to know. He flushed and washed his hands and then made it back to the door. 

He gave a yelp of surprise as he opened the door and saw Bucky standing outside, glaring at him. 

"Hey, Buck," Steve said. 

Bucky didn't stop glaring as he took hold of one of Steve's arms and slung it over his shoulder, half carrying him back to the bed. 

"I'm fine, Bucky, I just needed to use the bathroom." 

"You should have asked for help." 

"I'm perfectly capable of walking a few metres across a room." 

"You were shot. You shouldn't be walking anywhere." Bucky gently deposited Steve back on the bed and Steve lay down to keep him happy, and not because his stomach muscles were throbbing even more acutely from the short bit of walking around. 

"I'm fine, Buck. I have enhanced healing. I'll be better in no time." 

"But you're not better now. You need to stay in bed. You were always such a pain in the..." Bucky stopped. He frowned. 

"I was always such a pain in the what?" Steve prompted, fighting the urge to smile at this sign of Bucky's returning memories. Bucky continued to frown. He stood by the bed, not quite looking at Steve. 

"He always wanted to keep you safe but you never would let him. He was so angry when you went and got yourself turned into a science experiment so you could fight. He wanted you safe at home, away from the war." 

"He?" Steve asked. 

"Bucky Barnes." 

Steve reached out a hand towards Bucky, tugging him closer until he sat down on the edge of the bed. "You're Bucky Barnes." 

"I'm not him." There was a pause and then he continued, "I don't think I'm the asset either anymore. I've been less and less the asset since you found me, but Hydra stripped away too much of Bucky Barnes for me to be him again. I don't know who I am." 

"You're Bucky," Steve said. "You're not the same as you used to be. After everything you've been through, I wouldn't expect you to be, but you're still him, still the same person at the heart of you." 

"I don't know how to be him. I thought I could pretend. I thought I could watch the videos and learn to mimic his mannerisms, but it would just be an act. I could do it, if it would make you happy." From the tone of Bucky's voice, he already knew it wouldn't make Steve happy to have him pretend. 

"I don't expect you to just wake up one day and be exactly the same as you used to be. Hell, I'm not the same kid from Brooklyn who no one would look twice at; I've had to change too." 

"You're too big now." 

Steve smiled at that complaint. "I've got used to it now, but when I first changed, I was forever bumping into things because I was used to taking up a lot less room. The USO girls called me Captain Clumsy for half the tour. At least, that was what they called me when anyone was around who might overhear because as polite young ladies they couldn’t be heard calling me the other name." 

He could smile at the memory now, though at the time it had felt like just another humiliation. He'd felt he would never fit right inside his skin. He'd taken to hunching and trying to make himself seem smaller but of course that hadn't been possible. 

"He liked you better when you were smaller, I think," Bucky said. Steve didn't comment this time about him referring to himself in the third person. "He liked that he could wrap himself around you." Bucky was frowning slightly in thought. "I think... There was a woman. He didn't like that she looked at you. He thought that she was going to steal you from him and he didn't like that. He liked it better when no one saw you but him." Bucky continued frowning, his expression growing more serious. "Was that selfish?" 

Steve wanted to deny it, wanted to say that Bucky didn't have a selfish gene in his body, but Bucky deserved honesty. 

"I don't know," he said. "Maybe a little, but you didn't try to keep me from being with Peggy so you weren't selfish enough to try and get in my way. And then I'm selfish too, when it comes to you. Aliens were coming out of a hole in the sky and lives were in danger and all I could think about was finding you and keeping you safe. That was selfish." 

He hadn't known Bucky had felt that way about Peggy, because it had to be Peggy he was talking about. Bucky had made jokes about being invisible, but Steve had thought the problem had been that he wasn't the centre of attention. He hadn't guessed that Bucky would be jealous that someone like Peggy had finally paid attention to him. After all those years of double dates and Bucky trying to set him up with his latest girl's friends that he'd assumed Bucky would have been happy for him to finally get a romantic interest of his own. 

The fact that Bucky hadn't let on at the time was a sign that Bucky was still a good person despite occasionally negative feelings. He'd tried to make Steve happy, and Steve could only admire that. 

"I knew you would come to save me," Bucky said. "I knew you wouldn't let anyone or anything stop you from saving me." 

Those words just made guilt rise up in Steve like a fountain of sorrow threatening to drown him. 

"I didn't save you. Not the one time it really mattered." 

Bucky glared at him. "We need to have this conversation when you're no longer injured." 

"Why?" 

"So I can punch you." 

Of all the answers Bucky might have given, that one was the least expected, especially given Bucky's earlier reaction to punching him. Steve had to ask about it, because the guilt rose up inside him again at the knowledge of how much Bucky had suffered over the years, at how much anger he held inside him and had every right to hold. It was a wonder that Bucky was willing to be beside him now, after the life Steve had abandoned him to. 

"You want to punch me?" Steve asked. "For not rescuing you?" 

"For not rescuing yourself. You could have found a way to survive. You could have jumped out of the plane before it crashed. You could have sent a signal so they'd find you earlier. You thought I was dead so you let yourself die." 

"I couldn't even do that right." 

Bucky's fist moved in a blur, slamming into the pillow beside Steve's head. Steve flinched away but Bucky hadn't even been close to hitting him. He glared at Steve, expression full of righteous fury, but Steve didn't think for a moment that Bucky would actually hurt him. 

"You gave up on yourself because you thought he was dead," Bucky said. "He wouldn't have wanted that. He would never have wanted you dead." 

"It wasn't... It wasn't like it was suicide," Steve said. Maybe he hadn't minded dying as much as if Bucky had been alive, but it wasn't like he'd been trying to die. It had just been... easier. It had been simpler to accept that the time was right for him to die. "I thought I was doing some good, ridding the world of Hydra. Not that that seemed to work out in the end." 

All that he had sacrificed, all they'd both been through, and Hydra were still there, as powerful as ever, but hiding in the ranks of an international agency with more money than some countries. Hydra were still a threat, Bucky had survived, and everything Steve had tried to achieve was worthless. 

"I'm sorry," Steve said. 

"You should be. Never do that again. Never let yourself die, no matter what happens to me." 

"I promise." It was impossible, in the face of the earnest look on Bucky's face, that he could have said anything else in response to that. Bucky gave a sharp nod. 

Bucky moved onto the bed again, lying down beside Steve. Steve tried to shift over to make more room for him, but Bucky just rested his head on Steve's shoulder, pinning him in place. Steve fought the urge to reach across and play with Bucky's hair. It was so long now, and Steve found himself wanting to stroke it, to run his fingers through the dark lengths. Steve knew he probably ought to keep looking through the files he'd been sent, investigating Shield agents to see if they could be trusted, but this moment seemed too beautiful to break with mundane work. 

"I missed this," Steve said. 

"I think I did too," Bucky said. "I just didn't remember what I was missing." 

They lay like that, Bucky's head resting on Steve's shoulder. Bucky didn't reach for his tablet either. It was just the two of them, sharing a moment of quiet peace. 

"Did this used to be the other way round?" Bucky asked after a while. 

Steve thought back. "It probably more often was. Sometimes I'd get chest infections and it was hard for me to breathe if I lay flat, so I would lie propped against you to sleep so I would be more upright. I don't need to do that since the serum." 

"I guess the serum was good then, even if he hated it." 

"There's a lot that's good about it. I don't have to worry about dying before I'm thirty anymore." 

"About seventy years too late for that, pal," Bucky said, and his tone was so perfectly Bucky that Steve's breath felt as short as all those times he had been struggling with infections. Was that a joke? 

Bucky was still talking about himself in the third person, like who he was now was someone separate from who he had been, but with each passing day, Steve saw more and more of the old Bucky in him. He didn't expect him to magically recover, to wake up one morning and be the same guy who had gone to work at the docks and taken double shifts to help Steve afford medicines, but the core of him was still the same, and those little mannerisms appeared as a reminder that the old Bucky wasn't completely lost. 

These echoes of the old Bucky seemed to be coming more and more frequently. Steve wondered what had happened to make these signs show up like this. Was this an inevitable part of Bucky starting to remember? Or had he done something to help? Maybe touch was helping. Maybe Bucky's own decision to stand up to Hydra had unlocked something. Maybe his being hurt was bringing memories back. 

Steve wasn't sure and he might never be sure, but whatever was the cause, he was just happy. Despite the alien invasion and the fact that his sacrifice had been for nothing and that Hydra had infiltrated the organisation he'd agreed to work for, he was happy. He was happier than he could remember being for a long time, lying on this ridiculously soft bed in this ridiculously luxury apartment, with Bucky lying beside him.


	39. Chapter 39

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've added the Oblivious Steve tag because of this chapter.

"You'd better be keeping it PG, Terminator," Stark announced, walking into the room without waiting for an invitation. The asset supposed that was acceptable behavior, since he apparently owned this entire facility, but some piece of him remembered the concept of privacy, however foreign it might seem to him now. Stark looked at the two of them, lying together on the bed, and said, "I suppose this is what counts as wild and horny for a pair of grandpas." 

"If only I had a time machine," Steve said, "so I could go back and find whoever told you that you were funny and put a stop to them before all this misery was inflicted on innocent ears." 

"Speaking of misery being inflicted on innocents, I've been talking to a few people about your boyfriend. I bypassed Secretary Nazi and spoke to a few other people who Barnes didn't identify as Hydra, and got them to agree that after all this, maybe it was a good idea to move the Winter Soldier away from major population centres. Stark Industries has a warehouse facility upstate that's not been used for much other than gathering dust for years. I'm going to convert it into a full Avengers facility. Rebuild it with state of the art security, patch in Jarvis, all of that. This time, evil Hydra spies won't have even the watered down version of the security blue prints. Plus, there'll be gardens and stuff and no one to freak out if you and your boyfriend want to walk among the roses holding hands." 

"Why do you keep doing that, Tony?" Steve asked, sounding more annoyed than might have been appropriate given that Stark was apparently putting a lot of effort into given them somewhere safe to go. 

"Do what? Keep throwing money and effort into helping people who don't seem appropriately grateful for all my hard work." 

"I meant mocking us, with all the talk about boyfriends." 

"Who's mocking? Just because you two were raised in repressionville doesn't mean that i should ignore the obvious 'from here to eternity' vibe you've got going on." 

"He's my friend." 

"Friend. Sure. That would be more convincing if you weren't literally cuddling on the bed right now." 

The asset tried to process what was going on with this conversation. Steve hadn't seemed upset by their closeness, but he seemed upset now because Stark had interpreted their closeness to mean something Steve hadn't intended. Did that mean the asset should stop? Should he leave Steve's side and put some distance back between them so that Stark wouldn't make the comments Steve didn't like? 

But he didn't want to stop touching Steve, and he didn't think Steve wanted him to stop either. Steve had been perfectly happy to hug him before, to let the asset stay in close contact, as soon as he'd worked out that it was indeed what the asset wanted. He hadn't protested at all about him using the bed to lie beside him. He didn't think Steve would be happy about changing his behaviour to make someone else treat them differently. In fact, he thought Steve would get angry about that whole idea. 

"Bucky is my friend," Steve said, "and he's been through a lot, so you don't get to judge him for the fact he wants comfort." 

"Hey, who's judging? I may have done some cuddling of my own with guys in the past. And by cuddling, I mean wild, rampant sex." 

"But what about all those stories about you dating beautiful women?" Steve asked. 

"Hey, I may lean heavily in the direction of women, but I am perfectly capable of sleeping with an attractive man if he grabs my attention. Just another way of disappointing my dad, I guess." 

A memory rose from the fog of the asset's past. The taste of expensive scotch on his tongue, the heat of alcohol in his belly, and a man's voice saying, "Now, I like women. I'm all in favour of women. Big fan of women, but I am not going to ignore a man that attractive. I would let that man plough me like a field. When he stepped out of the chamber after the serum, my first thought was that I wanted him to bend me over the console there and then and make me scream his name, and to hell with all the press and politicians watching." 

The amount of alcohol that had been drunk that night probably didn't help with the clarity of the memory, but enough pieces filtered through that the asset had a good idea of what had been happening, who had been talking, and how it related to the current conversation. 

"Howard Stark wouldn't have been disappointed you sometimes feel attraction for men," the asset said, "since he was the same." 

"What?" Stark said. 

The asset clarified. "He wanted Steve to fuck him." 

"What?!" this time it was Steve who exclaimed in shock. 

"He and Bucky Barnes once shared half a bottle of expensive whiskey and discussed wanting to have sex with you," the asset told him. 

Steve pushed himself away from the asset on the bed, propping himself up on his elbows to more easily stare. "You had a conversation with Howard about him wanting to have sex with me? Why? Why would he say that? Why would you never tell me?" 

The asset closed his eyes, trying to reach for the frayed edges of the memory, searching for other details that might give Steve the answers he was looking for. It was like hunting through fog, trying to recall the rest of the conversation, to reclaim what had been lost to alcohol and time and the surges of electricity through his brain, but the fragments were there, coming together with effort. 

"I didn't need to hear that about my best friend," Bucky had said. 

"Friend. Sure," Howard had said, in almost exactly the same tone that this Stark had used. "Like you don't watch him when you think he won't notice. Like you don't wonder if what's inside his pants was enlarged like all the rest of him." 

And he'd refilled Bucky's tin cup with more of the alcohol. There had been another thing said, though the asset couldn't now remember whether that had come earlier or later in the conversation. Howard Stark had said, "Misery loves company," as he poured the drinks because he'd understood the two of them to be in the same position, lusting after someone they could never have. Bucky hadn't told Steve because Steve had been in love with the woman whose face he could now see in his memories, Peggy Carter. But she wasn't here now, and the asset wasn't bound by Bucky's decisions. He wasn't the same person as Bucky Barnes and he could decide for himself what to tell Steve, and there didn't seem any point in hiding this. 

"Howard told Bucky because he recognised that Bucky wanted to have sex with you too." 

Steve gaped at him. 

"You... You wanted to have sex with me?" 

The asset had thought Steve might have realised that from their earlier conversation about how jealous Bucky had been but it hadn't been as simple as that. The asset wasn't sure he had the words for the way Bucky had felt about Steve. There had been that burning protectiveness, that desire to keep Steve safe from all harm, even the harm he brought upon himself by picking fights with guys twice his size. There had been the pride though, seeing how Steve would stand up for what was right, the certainty of the strength of Steve's character, even when that strength had driven him to despair. There had been a delight in making Steve smile and a pain every time he heard coughs or wheezing that meant Steve was getting sick again. There had been admiration of the way his hands had moved over a page while he was creating something beautiful, and a curiosity about what it would be like if those hands moved over skin. The desire for sex had been a part of it, but it was a small part of a greater puzzle and the asset wasn't sure he had all the pieces. How many other fragments were lost to his broken memories? 

The asset considered carefully before he spoke, and when he tried to put these thoughts into words, what he said was, "I think Bucky Barnes wanted to belong to you too." 

Maybe that was the core of it, the piece of Bucky Barnes at the heart of him that had driven him to break free from the control Hydra had over him. Maybe that was the piece of him that remained Bucky Barnes despite all that had been done: the part of him that wanted to be Steve's. 

"But Buck," Steve said, "you never belonged to me before, you never belonged to anyone. You were your own person." 

Steve didn't understand. Perhaps Bucky didn't have the language to say what he meant. It was difficult to shape a thought so massive into something that could easily be shared. Bucky Barnes had known he hadn't been Steve's, had known that he would never be good enough to belong to Steve, had known that the world would have punished them both if he'd tried, but still he'd wanted it. That piece of want had burned at the core of his being for so long that even all the torment and electricity hadn't been able to quench the fire. Not completely. 

"Maybe we should talk about this later," Steve said. 

"Great idea," said Stark, "because I, for one, do not need to hear anything else about my dad's sexual preferences. Ever. You got that?" 

He pointed a finger at the asset in a way that was probably meant to look threatening, but the asset wasn't afraid of Stark anymore. He nodded his understanding anyway. 

"Right," Stark said, "what I actually came here to discuss was the research into Hill and May. Clint and Bruce haven't found anything suspicious. Have you found anything? Or were you too busy cuddling to check?" 

"I've looked through the files Fury shared," Steve said, "but this really isn't my area of expertise. I didn't see anything suspicious but I'm not sure I'd known what to look for." 

"You said you showed me some faces that you were sure weren't Hydra," the asset said. "Why not use them, if you think they can be trusted, instead of these agents?" 

"I picked those photos because they were about as far from secret agents as you can get. They were civilians with no ties to any military or government organisation, nothing that Hydra would want to exploit, which means we can make a reasonable assumption that they're not Hydra, but there's not much chance that they'll help us either." 

"Bucky has a point though," Steve said. "There have to be people with relevant experience who would be outside of the likely pool of Hydra recruits." 

"That's why I want Rhodey brought in. I know he's not Hydra. If nothing else, why would a black guy join up with a group's that's basically Nazis? It's not like they're known for their racial tolerance." 

"What about the winged men?" the asset asked. He had begun considering that when Stark brought up race. If race brought a reduction of likelihood of involvement, that was a point in one of the men's favour. Plus, they'd saved Steve. If they were enemies, they could have allowed Steve to die but pretended that they were trying to save him. 

"Winged men?" Steve asked, clearly confused. He'd been unconscious when those men had arrived, after all. Stark knew though. 

"It's a thought," Stark said. "They're pararescue, serving with the Air Force, not Shield. The problem is, we don't know what Hydra's recruitment strategies are. If they've been working since the forties, it's possible they recruit young and wait for those people to be promoted into positions of power. I can't think of a reason why Hydra would recruit those guys, but we don't know enough about them to be sure." 

"We can't be sure of anyone," the asset said, then added, "except Steve," because he would always be sure about Steve. Steve signing up to work with Hydra by choice was an absolute impossibility, but there was no one else that the asset could trust. 

"Have you got your information on Hydra bases?" Stark asked. "That might be the only way to figure this out, to find information from whatever files or computers those bases have to identify people who are definitely Hydra. Once we know more about the people who are, that will help us figure out the people who aren't." 

The asset handed over the tablet device he'd made his notes on. He had provided coordinates where he had them and vague recollections of base layout and location where he didn't. He had provided information about those missions he recalled, with the exception of one. He left out the details of the mission during which he had killed Stark's parents. He reasoned that this was a sensible decision, as antagonising Stark would make it harder to fight Hydra. It would be hard enough to fight with this small group and no information to determine who else could be safely brought into the circle, potentially damaging this truce with Stark would make that worse. He was one of two people, other than Steve, who the asset was reasonably confident wasn't Hydra, and if Stark refused to work with him anymore, that was a vital ally gone. 

Stark took the tablet, tapped out a code to unlock some functionality that had been sealed from the asset, and then told Jarvis to transfer the data to Fury. 

"We're going to have another meeting to discuss what we've found and see if Natasha's managed to extract all the secrets she can get from our Hydra prisoners," Stark said. "If I get hold of a wheelchair to get you there, are you up for having this meeting in an actual meeting room?" 

The asset wanted to argue that Steve was in no condition to be leaving this bed under any circumstances, but Steve answered first, saying that of course he could make it to a meeting room. The asset glared at him. Steve rolled his eyes in response, "I'll be fine, Buck. I'm doing a lot better already." 

"You are the least qualified person on the planet to make that judgement," the asset said. 

"I'll let you have your lovers spat," Stark said. "I'll send a chair down in a couple of hours." 

He walked away with a cheery wave. The asset watched him leave. He considered that Steve had managed to walk to the bathroom on his own and that had been several hours ago. His injuries would have healed further from then, and there were still another couple of hours before he would be expected to leave the bed. It would be a ridiculously short period of recuperation for a non-enhanced human, but for Steve? And sitting in a wheelchair wasn't the same as walking or performing strenuous activity. The asset frowned. 

"I will remove you from the situation if it becomes too much for you," the asset told him. 

Steve rolled his eyes and muttered, "Mother hen," with a fondness in his tone.


	40. Chapter 40

The planning meeting was frustrating and tedious. The asset wondered if all planning meetings were like this. He had never been authorised to attend them before, always having been briefed on his mission once all the decisions were made. That was much more efficient than sitting at the long table in the meeting room, listening to people talk in circles. They kept looping back to the point that they didn't have enough information, but still somehow managed to talk for hours about this. 

The woman, Romanov, had interrogated the prisoners but most had refused to give up any sort of information in direct questioning. She had apparently taunted them with names of some of those the asset had identified as Hydra agents and their reactions had confirmed his information to her satisfaction. So they had gained little new, but she was more inclined to trust the information he had provided on Hydra locations, protocols, codes, and mission history. 

That was the subject of the majority of the discussions. They identified targets and discussed ways to launch an attack while maintaining the secrecy of their operation. Fury didn't want Hydra to know that Shield or the Avengers were moving against them. He wanted to extract more information and damage their operations before this conflict became more public. That meant that their attacks against Hydra operations had to be complete, to ensure that nothing and no one survived, or at least survived free of their custody, to inform other Hydra agents of their identities. Hydra would know that someone was targeting them, but they wouldn't know that their cover was compromised inside Shield. 

That meant that there could be no witnesses, so they had to restrict their initial operations to remote locations, and Fury wished to avoid any bases that were linked officially to Shield. 

"If we take out a Shield facility, I will have to get involved officially," he said, "and that will put all the double agents on guard." 

They weighed up potential options, but a lot of the bases the asset knew about were either hidden behind the facade of an innocuous building in a population centre, or they were too heavily guarded to be easily defeated by a small strike force before a message could be sent. 

At one point, Fury suggested sending the asset into the base in Siberia, the one that had once been the hub for the whole Winter Soldier project. He thought that the asset could pretend to still belong to Hydra in order to infiltrate the base and then give them a way in, but Steve was strongly opposed to the idea. 

"No way in hell," he snarled, looking like he might launch himself across the conference table and attack Fury if he kept talking. 

The asset put a hand on Steve's shoulder to ensure he remained in the chair as much as to offer reassurance. He addressed Fury, "It would be a large risk to send me into a base that contains a chair." 

"A chair?" Barton asked. 

"Like the one you were strapped into by Rumlow's goons?" Stark asked. "That what they used to wipe your brain?" 

"Yes. If I were to go into a base containing such a chair after so long a period without conditioning, their first action will be to wipe me." 

"That's not happening." Steve reached up and put a hand over the one the asset had on his shoulder, squeezing gently. 

So it was decided that they would tackle another target. After considerably too long discussing options, they picked a warehouse outside Chicago that was used for storage of equipment, weapons, and resources. Items were shipped there and then either stored or routed to other locations in the USA. There was unlikely to be any critical information on the computers at the warehouse, but they might be able to identify other base locations from shipping addresses and the low level workers at a site like that might be more willing to talk if captured. If nothing else, confiscating the equipment would cause frustrations for local bases. 

An attack there would be plausible with the team they had, but Fury still wanted more people involved. There was a general understanding that they couldn't simply inform people of their mission or the existence of Hydra, because anyone might be a Hydra double-agent, but there were two agents that Fury particularly wanted to trust. There needed to be a test to prove that they weren't Hydra before they could be informed of their situation, since the asset couldn't confirm that they were not Hydra and the search of their records and activity had proved inconclusive. And if they were Hydra, then discovering that sooner rather than later would be an advantage, because it seemed these agents were people they didn't want working against them. 

"I do have a plan for testing them," Fury said. "Both Hill and May are familiar with the Winter Soldier's reputation as an assassin and enemy agent." 

He looked directly at the asset and laid out his plan to test the first of them. Steve seemed about as angry at hearing this as he'd been when Fury had suggested sending the asset into a known Hydra base alone. 

"It's too dangerous," Steve said. 

"I'm with Cap on this," Barton said. "I don't care how scary an assassin he is and how many Hydra agents he can rip apart with his bare hands, no one should have to go up against the Cavalry without backup." 

"Thank you for volunteering, Agent Barton," Fury said. 

Barton swore. 

Romanov smirked at him. "Are you scared, Clint?" 

"It's Melinda Fucking May! Of course I'm scared." 

That reaction didn't reassure Steve. The asset felt a little offended that Steve didn't think he could fight one person, but the reaction of Barton and the others suggested that this was a person to be cautious of. Perhaps she too was enhanced in some way. 

"Do you have footage of her in combat that I could study?" the asset asked. He had been silent for most of the meeting, but he didn't want to refuse this mission just because Steve was worried about it, not without knowing whether he felt he could face this Agent May. If she was formidable enough that Barton was scared of her then she would be a valuable ally if she could be confirmed not to be Hydra. There would be no way of confirming that without some risk, because if she turned out to be Hydra then a fight would be necessary. 

"I can get some videos of her in training sessions and sparring," Fury said. "Getting footage from actual missions would be more difficult." 

"It will be sufficient for me to assess her combat style." 

"If you think you can take her, you agree to the plan?" Fury directed the question at the asset, despite Steve arguing that the asset wasn't a Shield agent, that he wasn't Fury's to command, that it wasn't right for him to used in this way. 

"This will help in our mission to defeat Hydra," the asset pointed out. 

"Buck, you've fought enough. You're allowed to rest." 

The asset fought the instinct to nod an agreement to whatever Steve said. He felt a discomfort at arguing with Steve. Steve didn't want to be his handler, didn't want him to be an asset, but he still felt like he ought to obey Steve. If Steve told him not to go, then he wouldn't go. But Hydra were out there and they were still a threat, and Bucky Barnes wouldn't be afraid of arguing with Steve when it was called for. Staying in the cell might seem safer but it would leave Hydra at large, manipulating things from the shadows. The only way he could truly be safe was to destroy Hydra utterly. That was the only way Steve could be safe too, because there was no way Hydra would forgive Steve for his efforts to defeat them in the past. 

Destroying Hydra was necessary, and they had limited resources, limited personnel. It would be a tactical mistake to leave their best asset out of the fight just because Steve was worried. Being allowed to rest didn't mean that resting was the correct choice. 

"I am capable of fighting," he said. 

"But do you want this?" 

An echo of the past whispered in the back of his mind again. 

"Hell no, I don't want to fight," he said, "but Bucky Barnes didn't want to go back into the fight either. He did it to keep your stupid ass safe. He chose to follow you to fight Hydra because it was necessary. I choose to fight Hydra because it's necessary." 

"Buck," Steve said. His voice wavered. He sounded like he might start crying. 

Fury cut off anything else Steve might have said. "So that's decided. Barnes will review the footage we have of Agent May to decide if he feels capable of taking her down, and then we will set up the ambush." 

\----- 

The asset almost felt like the asset again, but not quite. Something fundamental had changed. He had a familiar combat vest on to provide some protection should his target attack him with knives or blunt weapons. It would provide little protection against bullets, so he would have to get in close enough that guns would be more of a liability than an advantage. He had a mask covering the lower part of his face and the skin around his eyes blackened to make facial recognition less likely and to conceal any involuntary displays of pain his face might otherwise show, his hair hanging down to act as another deterrent to facial recognition. His left arm would be recognisable enough for the mission. 

He still ached a little inside at the thought of that arm, with its red star showing on the shining metal. Stark had found some solvent to wash the paint of Steve's star off his shoulder, removing the trace of Steve's ownership of him. Now he was just the asset again, but he knew inside that he had changed. He wasn't doing this because some handler had ordered him to, unaware of consequences or reasons. He had chosen this. He had been given enough information to make an informed choice and he had made it, even going so far as to choose it against the wishes of the person he belonged to. He didn't want to be here, wearing his uncomfortable combat vest, his breath hot against his face because of the mask, crouching on an upper level of a parking lot, but the anticipation of the upcoming fight felt different from all the previous missions he could remember. 

Just because Steve's star was gone from his arm didn't mean that it was gone from his heart. He was doing this for a reason, not just because he was a machine following commands. He was doing this to help keep Steve safe. He was doing this as part of an overall strategy that he was allowed to not only know about but provide input on. He was doing this as a person, not a weapon. He was doing this as Bucky Barnes to protect his Steve and that mattered. 

But when the time came, it was his skills as an asset that he would be using. 

There were footsteps on the hard ground below, light enough to indicate a person of small build capable of walking softly. She wasn't trying to hide now though, just walking to the vehicle Fury had messaged her to approach as the setup to the ambush. He caught her face in the yellow lighting and recognised her from the footage. His target, Agent Melinda May, was alert, eyeing the gaps between parked cars as she passed in a way that seemed almost casual, like it was second nature for her to look for threats. The asset had little doubt that if he waited too long to make his move, she would spot him. 

He vaulted over the barrier and dropped down to the lower level of the parking lot, landing heavily in front of her. He ignored the pain of the impact shooting up his legs. 

"Ha-ugh." 

Her foot caught him in the throat before he could finish his line. He stumbled back a step, fighting to breathe through the damage to his neck. 

She was on him in a heartbeat, moving fast in a flurry of blows he could barely block while he still fought to get oxygen into his lungs. 

A knife appeared from somewhere and he barely got his metal arm in the way of its blade before she sliced open his guts. He caught the blade in his left hand and twisted it from her grip. Instinct told him to turn the weapon against her, but he made himself drop the knife, a kick sending it skittering away under a nearby truck. This wasn't a kill mission. 

She went for his throat again, but he dodged away, grabbing her arm and moving behind her. She use the hood of a car as a step and launched her body upwards, twisting over his hold on her arm to come down behind him, jabbing him under the armpit as he tried to twist to get her in front of him again. 

He could have dislocated her arm. He saw openings where he could have caused injury to win this fight, but that wasn't his mission. Containing her without causing physical harm was extremely difficult. She slipped out of any hold, twisted away from his grip, and assaulted him with punches and kicks from every possible angle. She wasn't concerned about not causing physical harm and she knew where to place her blows to cause pain enough to distract someone with less training. 

He managed to get his metal arm around her throat, using brute force and his enhanced strength to hold her still and position her body towards where he knew Barton was concealed. 

"Hail Hydra," he said into her ear as the dart struck her in the neck. 

Her response was to pull another knife from somewhere and stab him in the leg. She writhed and fought against his grip even as the tranquilliser took hold, managing to stab him again before she slipped unconscious, grip slipping from the knife, leaving it embedded in his leg. He kept his metal arm around her neck for a full minute, in case she was feigning unconsciousness, before he began carrying her over to the van. 

A cable snaked down from the upper level and Barton slid down its length, landing lightly nearby. His face remained covered by his own mask, even though May was now incapable of identifying him. He opened the sliding door of the van so that the asset could place May inside. He searched her thoroughly, finding two more knives easily enough. A small, ceramic knife with a curved blade might have escaped a more cursory search, tucked as it was under the wiring of her bra. The other bra cup concealed razor wire. 

"Are you alright?" Barton asked, gesturing towards the knife still in the asset's thigh. He wouldn't remove the knife until he was ready to bandage the injury, or there would be further blood loss, but he needed to secure the prisoner first. From the way she had fought, he wasn't going to risk anything but the most thorough of searches on her before he applied restraints, so this took priority over his well-being, but Barton pulled down his mask to reveal worry on his face. The asset could only imagine how much worse the expression on Steve's face would be. 

"I will recover," he said. "Don't tell Steve I got stabbed." 

"Well, if you insist," Barton replied, "but do you really want to set a precedent for not telling each other about injuries?" 

The asset considered. Much as he disliked the thought of Steve worrying about a wound that was far less severe than many he had received in the past, the thought of Steve using this as an excuse to conceal his own injuries was even worse. It was hard enough to ensure that Steve endured proper recovery time for injuries that had resulted in surgery. Hidden injuries were unacceptable. 

"Fine," he growled, "but I'll tell him myself when I get back so he can see it's not a big deal." 

He returned to his search of May while Barton got out a first aid kit and a set of secure restraints. Three of May's buttons contained electrical devices. One appeared to be a miniaturised taser of an interesting design that he might ask Stark about later. He wasn't sure about the others, but they might have been trackers or recording devices. The asset removed them all, along with the paper clip tucked into the seam of one shirt cuff. He wasn't sure if the paper clip was meant as a weapon or a way to escape restraints, but he didn't trust her with it either way. 

The asset was doubtful he had removed every potential weapon May had on her person, but Fury had been firm on the subject of stripping her, cavity searches, or shaving her hair, and any remaining weapons would be in places hard to reach while restrained. It would do for now. He applied the restraints to her limbs and then sat down on the little bench on the side of the van and let Barton apply bandages to the knife wounds on his leg. 

He didn't show the surprise he felt when Barton offered him painkillers. 

"I can function more effectively without them," he said. 

"What would you say if it was Cap who got stabbed?" 

The asset reached out and accepted the painkillers. It was a new way of thinking, to consider how he would feel if Steve were going through what he endured. He would be far less accepting of Steve experiencing what he could shrug off without caring for himself. The whole concept of caring about his suffering was a strange one, but he suspected he would have to learn, in order to stop his injuries causing Steve distress. Caring for Steve's suffering was much easier to wrap his head around.


	41. Chapter 41

The asset stood against the wall of the small room which had been repurposed for interrogation. There was a table on which a variety of sharp items lay, as well as a baton, cattle prod, and even a riding crop. On the other side of the table, Agent Melinda May was heavily restrained to a chair that had been bolted to the floor. The asset remained perfectly motionless, face concealed by mask and paint, watching her. He ignored the low throb of pain in his leg. The wound was not serious. Banner had assessed it on their return to the Tower, impressed with Barton's first aid application. A pain relieving gel had been applied to the injury itself, but standing on the leg was probably not the best action for healing. It wouldn't slow him down though, and the new pain killers didn't dull his focus, which was important. 

A less observant watcher would have missed the moment May regained consciousness. He almost missed it. There was a subtle tensing of the muscles of her shoulders and then relaxation, a mimicry of the unconscious state she had been in moments before. Other than that, she didn't move, didn't show any sign that she was aware of her surroundings. Her head remained slumped against her chest. 

The asset gave a tiny nod, hopefully undetectable by May with her eyes closed and her head tilted downwards, but it would be enough to be picked up by Jarvis. 

A moment later, a voice came over the speaker, but it wasn't Jarvis' voice. It was a human voice modified by electronic distortion so as to be unrecognisable. 

"Agent May, where does your loyalty lie?" 

May continued to not move, at least not much. The asset noted a slight tensing of muscles first in her legs then her arms. Testing out the restraints that held her? 

"Answer the question," the voice came over the speaker. "We know you are awake." 

May raised her head. She looked about her, taking in the room with a quick assessment before letting her eyes fall on the asset. He didn't move, didn't show any sign that he cared he was being studied. Before, he wouldn't have reacted so he couldn't now, not if he wanted to sell this ruse. 

"You called me agent," May said. "You know where my loyalties lie." 

She tensed the muscles of her arms more obviously now, putting force against the restraints, then trying to twist the limbs, feeling for leverage or flexibility, ways that she might wriggle out of them. 

"Do you serve Shield or Hydra?" 

The asset didn't move. He held himself perfectly still under the weight of her eyes. 

"Everyone knows Hydra were destroyed in World War Two." 

The asset was worried that she wasn't answering, but it might have been self-preservation. She hadn't announced herself as Hydra, which she might have done given his use of the phrase and the fact that she was supposed to have recognised him, which was promising. She might have been failing to declare herself as loyal to Shield in an effort to remain alive longer. That was sensible. While a passionate declaration of loyalty to Shield, even in the face of death, would have been more useful to them, it was less tactically effective for someone in May's situation. 

The voice on the speaker switched to Russian. 

"Soldier, pick up knife." 

The asset reached out and picked up the knife. He kept his eyes carefully blank, making his face devoid of expression to the best of his ability, even with the mask concealing most of it. 

He found he resented being addressed as the soldier, being talked to the way he would have been as the asset. It was a strange feeling. Inside his head, he was still thinking of himself as the asset. Steve's asset, yes, but still the asset. Now, being barked orders at like the asset, as he would have been in the past gave him an uncomfortable feeling under his skin. He didn't want to be treated like this. He didn't want to be the asset anymore. 

English again, "Do you serve Shield or Hydra?" 

May spoke calmly. "Am I supposed to be afraid of a knife?" 

She certainly didn't appear afraid. There was a tension in her muscles, a wariness in the way her eyes scanned the room before returning to the... to him. But wariness was not fear. She was cautious about him, watching, waiting. She was looking for an opportunity but still in control of her emotions. There was something impressive about it. 

"Soldier, proceed." 

The man who was not the asset anymore circled the table. He did it because he chose to do it, because this was important for the mission, because this would help with the fight against Hydra and so help Steve. He did this because he as a person made the choice to do it, not because someone was barking orders at him in Russian. He still moved as he would have done as the asset. He still wore the asset mask and had the asset's skills, but he was different underneath. He knew that. It was important. 

He brought the knife to May's throat, not showing any signs of hesitation. 

"Soldier, stop." 

He froze, the blade of the knife millimetres from slitting May's throat. Her head was pressed back against the chair, her neck as far from the knife as she could make it, but she had nowhere to run to, no way to fight him. She still didn't look afraid. 

In English, the voice over the speaker repeated the question, "Do you serve Shield or Hydra?" 

May's eyes went to the knife, then to the as... to his eyes. It wasn't hesitation. It was a weighing look, measuring, studying him the way a chess player might study the layout of the board, assessing possible moves. He wondered how much she had deduced about her situation. 

"Shield," she said. 

"Kill her slowly and painfully," the voice over the speaker announced in Russian. It was clear that May understood, and something flickered on her face then, the first trace of anything but perfect composure. She was surprised. The expression was there and gone in a heartbeat but she didn't say anything, just tensed up, bracing herself for what he would do to her. That was more reassuring than her spoken words had been. Her words might have been a lie but the surprise was not. 

The man who was no longer the asset set down the knife and reached for the baton instead. If he were going to kill her in a slow, painful way, he would start with blunt force trauma to prevent her bleeding out too quickly. He raised the baton in his left hand, and then swung it down, aiming for a strike on her hand, where it was pinned to the arm of the chair by the restraints. A suitable first target: painful, non-lethal, and with the added advantage of reducing a prisoner's chances of escape. 

He stopped the blow short, the baton stopping just above her hand. There had been the faintest of flinches in May's demeanour, barely noticeable except from so close a distance. She had genuinely expected him to hit her and she hadn't said anything to prevent it. She studied him now, a slightly satisfied smirk creeping onto her press-together lips. 

He stepped back, set the baton down, and announced, "Two." 

The door opened and Barton walked in. "Seriously? Two? She was willing to sit there and die and the best score you'll give her is a two?" 

"She suspected it was a test," he answered. 

"How did... Did Hydra give you creepy mind-reading powers?" 

"Agent Barton," May said. She didn't bother with disguising her emotions now, letting her anger show. 

"Please don't kill me," he said to her, even as he approached to undo the restraints holding her to the chair. 

"Hill told me about what happened with you and Loki, and you think you're qualified to give people loyalty tests." 

Barton had freed her arms and the man who used to be the asset wouldn't have been surprised if she'd hit Barton or tried to throttle him right then, given the venom in her tone. She didn't though, just rubbed at her arms and let Barton crouch down to free her legs. 

"It was Fury's plan." 

Fury had gone back to Shield while they carried out because he couldn't be absent for too long. Everyone would expect him to be busy in the aftermath of the invasion, so they wouldn't expect him to be sitting in his office, but they would expect to see him around, working on clearing up the mess left by the aliens. He had left this test up to them to complete while he tried to pretend that he wasn't involved in a secret group investigating his own organisation. 

"I'm going to kill him," May said. 

"I know it might not seem like it, but he tested you like this because he does trust you," Barton said. "You were the first person he wanted to bring in on what's going on. Well, you and Hill, but Hill is busy handling alien aftermath and people would be suspicious if we whisked her off right now, so we started with you because you were the other person he most wanted involved in this. It's a sign of respect." 

"I'm not mad about him testing me." She glared towards the former asset. "I've worked with the suspicious bastard long enough to expect that. I'm mad about him authorising the use of the Winter Soldier for the test when he should be locked at the bottom of a deep dark hole, buried up to his neck in concrete to keep him from escaping." He wondered if it was a sign of respect for his abilities that she thought he required all that to keep him contained. "How the hell are you even controlling him?" 

Free of the restraints, she stood, and her first action was to pick up the knife he'd set on the table. She didn't make any threatening move with it, so he did nothing except keep careful note of where she was holding it, in case it became necessary to defend against it. 

"They're not controlling me," he said. That made her tighten her grip on the knife but he felt it was important to say it. "I'm not Hydra's asset anymore." 

He wasn't Bucky Barnes, not the Bucky Barnes who used to be, but people could have the same names without being the same person. He'd already announced his name as Bucky once, and it was the name Steve used for him. It would be the simplest choice. He reached up to remove his mask with his left hand and held out his right. She eyed the outstretched hand warily. 

"Hi. I'm Bucky." 

"How come I didn't get offered a handshake?" Barton complained. 

"You shot me." 

May continued to eye his hand. "Am I expected to believe that the Winter Soldier switched sides?" 

"You don't have to trust me," he said. "I don't trust that you're not Hydra." 

At that, she held out a hand tentatively. They shook briefly, her grip firm but not enough to indicate enhancement. They let go almost at once, neither giving the other a chance to turn an introduction into a combat move. 

"Someone better explain what this is all about, and soon," May said, "or I may get irritated. Why are you talking about Hydra? Is some neo-Nazi group using the old name? Or is it some remnant of the old science program? Please don't tell me it's time travel." 

Barton led her out of the room, already starting to give the explanation. The man who wasn't the asset packed away the intimidation tools and then followed, but stopped when he saw Steve in the doorway of the room down the hall from which he'd been observing the interrogation. He had a dopey grin on his face. 

"What?" 

"You introduced yourself as Bucky," Steve said. The grin was infectious. The sight of it made the as... made Bucky want to smile as well. He wanted to keep Steve looking that happy. 

"I'm still not him," he said. 

"I know, it's just good to hear you talking about yourself as a person," Steve said. 

"I'm still yours," Bucky said. He felt almost defensive about that. Just because he was accepting that he should have a name instead of a description didn't change that fact. Bucky Barnes had wanted to belong to Steve. This Bucky did belong to Steve, and as soon as he was done with these tests, he was going to have Steve paint his mark on the arm again to make that clear to everyone. 

"You're your own person, Buck," Steve said. He looked less happy now as they slid back into this argument. "I hope you'll see that soon, but I'm glad you're introducing yourself like that." 

Bucky nodded. He supposed this truce was as good as it was going to get for now. 

"We should go to the meeting room. Agent May will have a lot of questions." 

And when they were done with answering her questions, they would have to discuss their next move. Fury would want to put this Agent Hill to the test and Stark wanted to bring his friend into the group, which would require a different strategy to the test, since he was unlikely to be familiar with Bucky's history and reputation as the Winter Solider. Then there was the assault on the Hydra warehouse to plan. 

So many things needed planning and Bucky had the guilty thought that things were easier when he just had to be given mission parameters by someone else and not have to worry about overall strategic decisions for a long term offensive. He glanced at Steve and pushed that thought out of his mind. Easier was not better. 

This was better. 

He walked into the meeting room, where a chair was waiting for him to sit in, just like everyone else in the room. Despite the look of suspicion May gave him, he was on equal footing with the others here. He was a part of the team, not just a weapon in their arsenal. It would take some getting used to, but his existence would be better for it.


	42. Chapter 42

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter ended up being a lot longer than I anticipated. Getting Steve to acknowledge feelings takes time.

The move to the new base Stark had put together for them outside of the city was very different from the move between the Shield facility and the Tower. For one thing, no one even suggested about rendering Bucky unconscious for this trip, at least not within Steve's hearing. May, and Fury both wanted Bucky restrained in some way, but Steve argued vehemently against that and Stark pointed out that they'd probably find it more effective to restrain Steve instead, since Bucky was attached to him by an invisible leash. 

Steve wanted to snap at him for that remark, but he had a point. Bucky had been willing to leave Steve's side to go and capture May for the first of the loyalty tests, but only after extracting promises that Steve would stay safely within the Tower, and after forcing Stark to rig up a communications link so that Steve could alert Bucky if anything had gone wrong. The only thing that kept Steve from rolling his eyes at that was the fact that the link went both ways, so he would be able to listen in to Bucky and make sure he was safe too. Stark had rolled his eyes at the both of them, but he'd given them the link. 

For the journey to what Stark was calling the Avengers Compound, the end result of the various arguments was that Steve and Bucky would take an ordinary car with Romanov and Barton. They didn't have enough people in their little group to have a full security convoy, and anything they attempted would just raise interest. So they aimed for discrete instead, hoping that no one would notice what was just one more car on the road. 

Romanov and Barton would be heading on from there, returning to Shield and their duties as agents to prevent any suspicion that they were working a covert plan together. They could be called upon for missions when needed and in the meantime they would continue to hunt for information inside Shield's databases. May had already left, gone to find Hill. She had told them she would perform the loyalty test herself. Bucky hadn't been happy about that, because he wasn't confident she could be trusted, but he'd been outvoted and Steve suspected that it was a holdover from all he'd been through that Bucky suspected everyone might be Hydra. Given everything they'd been through and all they'd discover, Steve couldn't even argue against that point, though he was a little more inclined than Bucky to trust May. She had been thoroughly briefed on the situation and had seemed furious about it all. She hoped that between her and Hill, they would be able to dig a little deeper for suspicious activity within Shield's operations. 

Steve knew that sort of work wasn't what he was best at, but he still resented being left out, but it wouldn't be for long. They had their planned attack on the Hydra warehouse soon, but all of them needed to establish alibis, and this way they would all be physically recovered from the events in New York. While Steve had been hurt the worst, the others had been battered and bruised from fighting aliens and wanted to make sure they were back to full strength before the assault on the warehouse because they couldn't afford for anyone to get free. So Bucky was being moved out of the city and part of his cover: continuing to be a prisoner but now at Stark's compound. Steve was there officially as his guard. 

The awkward car ride eventually came to an end and Steve got his first look at the place. The new building was in a large patch of ground that was mostly overgrown. Stark had been full of wild plans for gardens when he'd described it to them, but what they found was a former parking lot with weeds and tree roots breaking through the tarmac. A small, artificial pond was clogged up with algae and sticking, green gunk. There wouldn't be any pleasant walks in these grounds for some time. 

The inside wasn't much better. Contractors had been rushed in to make changes, and parts of the building smelled of new paint, but there were areas without furnishings or anything to give the rooms a feel of being lived in. Other parts, Stark had taken care of decorating, but Steve wasn't sure he was happier to discover that, after he walked into the quarters Stark had allocated for him and Bucky to find one big bed, covered in rose petals. 

"One of these days, I'm just going to punch Stark in the face," Steve said. 

"Because he's giving me roses?" Bucky said. "I didn't take you for the jealous type." 

Once again there was that flash of the old Bucky in his tone, a teasing note to his tone that sent an ache through Steve, because the man in front of him had insisted he wasn't the same person. He was close enough that the differences still hurt, but also close enough that Steve knew that what had mattered about Bucky still mattered in him. He pushed those confused feelings aside and focused on Stark, a subject it was easier to know how he felt about because it was usually annoyance. 

"He's mocking us," Steve said. "He sees how close we are and he has to make jokes about boyfriends." 

"I don't think he's joking," Bucky replied. He walked over to the huge bed and ran his hands through the petals, sending out wafts of scent. "I think he's trying to show support." 

"Support." Steve thought of the conversation they'd had before, of the way Stark had spoken about attraction to men as though it was nothing. He thought of Bucky's revelation that he used to be attracted to Steve. He still didn't know how to feel about that. He didn't like that there had been something so important about Bucky he hadn't even guessed at, and he was even less sure what that meant for things now, with this Bucky. He'd pushed the thoughts of it out of his mind because they'd been so busy with May and planning, but it seemed he couldn't avoid this conversation forever. 

"Two men can be a relationship now," Bucky said. "Stark gave me a pamphlet about it. It's perfectly natural and nothing to be ashamed about." 

Stark had given him a pamphlet about homosexual relationships? Of course he had. And once again Steve wasn't sure whether the gesture was meant to be supportive or mocking. It was entirely possible that Stark intended both at the same time. But there were probably more important things that he should be focusing on about the direction Bucky had taken this conversation. 

"Do you want a relationship, Buck?" he asked. 

"I want to be yours," Bucky said. 

"That's not the same thing." Steve hated that it kept coming back to belonging, to Bucky thinking that he needed to be someone's asset, someone's property. After so long without any autonomy, that mindset was clearly going to be hard to shift, no matter how much Bucky was adjusting in different ways. 

Bucky looked puzzled. 

"Isn't it?" he said. "I would belong to you and you would belong to me. Bucky Barnes wanted to belong to you. He wanted to stand in front of a priest and swear to be yours forever, but it wasn't allowed then, and he was scared that if he told you, you would get hurt." 

Steve felt like his brain had short circuited. He didn't understand how Bucky could talk so calmly about something that was so big, something that had so many implications. A random conversation with Howard was a big enough thing on its own... but this? 

"You wanted to marry me?" he said. There could be no other meaning to Bucky's words, but he had to confirm it. He had to hear it put into those terms before his brain would wrap itself around the idea. How could that be true? And how could he not have known it if it was? 

"He wanted to be yours. He didn't think he was good enough, but he still wanted it." 

A part of him wanted to believe that Bucky was just confused. He had lost a lot of knowledge about how human relationships worked and his place in them. Perhaps he was mis-remembering. Or perhaps Bucky really had talked to Howard about wanting to sleep with him, and imagined weddings that wouldn't have been legal. Maybe Bucky really had been in love with him. And as for being not good enough, that was obviously nonsense. Bucky had been the strongest and bravest person he knew, willing to follow him back into war even... 

A memory cut that train of thought short. Sitting in a bar with Bucky, talking about the group that would become the Howling Commandos, he had asked Bucky to follow him. Bucky had asked him if he was keeping the outfit. At the time, he'd thought it was just Bucky joking around, but what if it wasn't. In light of what Bucky had told him, a new explanation made itself very obvious. Bucky had asked him about keeping the outfit because he'd been attracted to Steve. He'd wanted to see him in those ridiculous tights again. 

Bucky... had been attracted to him. 

Something shifted as he looked back at their history, a million different interactions open to new interpretations. All those times Bucky had insisted on double dates, finding some hapless girl to lumber with Steve. What if it hadn't just been Bucky trying to set him up because he was a good friend? What if Bucky had used those double dates as a justifiable excuse so that he could go on dates with Steve? All those times they had been close, Bucky holding him to keep him warm on winter nights, might have been more than just selfless care for his well-being. Even Bucky teaching him how to dance in the confines of their little apartment might have been an excuse for Bucky to hold him, to dance with him. 

It was like stepping out of the tube in the lab all over again, seeing the world vibrant with colour, hearing everything clearly for the first time in his life. He'd sudden seen details that he'd never been able to notice before. He looked back on his history with Bucky and a million different things were suddenly so clear he couldn't understand how he'd never seen it sooner. 

Bucky had been in love with him. 

And he'd never realised. 

Bucky had always just been there, a fixture of his life, appreciated, of course, but taken for granted in so many ways. Steve had just drifted through his life, knowing that he could depend on Bucky, that he wasn't alone. Sure, there had been times when he'd been afraid that Bucky would go off and get married, but he'd always kinda assumed that he'd just be there. Maybe living next door, acting as the weird uncle to Bucky's hoard of kids, maybe taking a spare room in their apartment to share the rent, the way they'd always done. He'd never really thought about the possibility of Bucky not being in his life... until he was gone. 

But he'd never sat down and thought about what that meant, what it implied in terms of Bucky's feelings for him. Or his feelings for Bucky. 

The old Bucky had been in love with him. This new Bucky had latched onto him with an intensity that Steve wasn't entirely sure was healthy. But what should happen now? The weight of all these implications was finally hitting Steve, with decades worth of history behind them, and he wasn't sure how he ought to react, what he ought to think, or how he should feel about all of this. 

"Are you alright?" Bucky asked. Because of course that was what Bucky was worried about. He was Bucky, memories or not, trauma or not, he was still Bucky and Bucky's first priority was always Steve's well-being. How could Steve not have noticed that Bucky was in love with him? Stark had been casually dropping it into conversations for weeks and Steve had dismissed it as jokes. Bucky had practically announced it, especially with how he'd latched onto Steve the moment he knew he was allowed to touch. How could Steve have been so utterly oblivious? 

"I don't know what to do now," Steve said. 

"There is a TV in the other room if you want to keep watching things on your list," Bucky said. "Or we could see what food Stark has provided us." 

"That wasn't what I meant. I meant about us." 

"Why do you have to do anything about us?" Bucky asked. He was standing close to Steve and, as he spoke, reached out and put his hand on Steve's arm. It was a comforting gesture, one that a few days ago Steve might have seen as nothing more than a friend being friendly. In light of all he knew now, it seemed full of implications. 

"I mean... Is this a relationship? Is Stark right? Are we boyfriends? Or are we friends? What does this mean for how we relate to each other going forward? Is it even right to be having this conversation now, when you're still recovering from everything Hydra did to you? Should I take a step back, put some distance between us so you can heal? Or would that just hurt you without any benefit?" 

Bucky's answer to the question about stepping back was to move closer to Steve. It was obvious he didn't want that. 

"I don't care what Stark calls us," Bucky said. "I belong to you." 

He said it without any hesitation or doubt. Steve wished he could be that certain about this. 

"I don't know if your mind's in a place where you can consent to anything," he said. 

Bucky actually rolled his eyes at him. "You worried you'll have to beat yourself up in a back alley for putting your hands somewhere they ain't wanted?" 

"Something like that. Or get beaten up by myself." Once again, Steve was struck by how much more Bucky was remembering about the past. Steve wasn't sure if he'd mentioned his habit of back alley fights to Bucky since their reunion, but Bucky spoke of it so casually he could make jokes. 

"I'll be there to rescue your sorry ass from yourself," Bucky said. 

Was the fact that Bucky was able to make jokes about consent a sign that he was able to consent? He wasn't sure he was qualified to make the judgement and he didn't want to do anything that Bucky would end up resenting him for later. 

"Stevie," Bucky said, and Steve's eyes went sharply to him, the old nickname sounding so strange to his ears and sending a shiver through him that he hadn't expected. Bucky reached out and took Steve's hand. "I ain't gonna do anything you don't want. But I get it now, what you were saying about tests. Tests mean... Tests mean pain, they mean scientists poking at me and hurting me. They mean being strapped to a table, helpless, while people do things I can't stop. Tests... You said they wouldn't hurt but in here," he tapped at his head with his free hand, "test mean hurt. You wanted me to do them, to get scanned by Stark's tech. If you'd just told me to do it, I would have. I would have done what you wanted. But you asked. You told me I could say no. I thought saying no meant... saying no hurts worse than tests, but I said no. You gave me a choice, made it about what I wanted. I'm still... I'm scared of tests and scans, but you want me to do them because you think it will help me. So... So, yes, I'll let you do the tests. I won't like it but I can say yes to that and I know you won't punish me for saying no because you didn't. I said no and you accepted it. I know that you won't force me to do anything else, anything sexual. Like the tests, I know you won't punish me for saying no but... it's not like the tests. I wouldn't be doing it because you think I should. I'd want it. The old Bucky Barnes would have wanted it too." 

Bucky moved slightly closer, close enough so that their linked hands brought their arms into contact as well, the warmth of skin contact going all the way up past the elbow. It was obvious Bucky wasn't worried about that. Under any other circumstances, Steve would have said his interest was overt, but there was still that gnawing of doubt about what Bucky could freely agree to. It seemed Bucky could see his worries written on his face, because he kept talking, even though he might have just said the most words in one go that he'd said since they'd been reunited. 

"If you don't want to do anything," Bucky said, "you say so, but you say yes or no for you. I'll say yes or no for me." 

Again Bucky took a subject that was big and complicated and full of emotional risk, and made it sound so simple. Like it really was just as straight-forward as Steve deciding what he wanted. Not that it was all that simple. What did he want? 

It was like a door had opened in his mind to thoughts he'd never let himself think before. Bucky was here in front of him, talking about belonging and relationships, making implications about sexual touching. Did Steve want to have sex with Bucky? 

Bucky was attractive, there was no doubt about that. Steve had watched him bulk out from manual labour down at the docks and felt something like jealousy watching those muscled arms. He'd studied him as he got ready for dates, taking care with his hair and clothes. He'd sketched him a million times on whatever paper he could get his hands on. But that didn't mean anything. All guys could recognise when another man was attractive. It didn't mean he actually wanted to have sex with him. 

But Steve thought about Bucky's hands on him, both then and now, the way Bucky had pulled him close and let go a little too soon for Steve's liking. And now he was thinking about it, imagining what it would like if they were both naked when they lay in bed, wondering if Bucky's strong hands would be gentle on his skin or hold him roughly through the heat of passion. He found he wanted to know. 

But it wasn't as simple as just saying yes. 

"We should take things slowly," he said, mouth surprisingly dry. 

"Ninety years of waiting not slow enough for you, pal?" Bucky asked, and Steve smiled, more at the tone, the familiar cadence of the last syllable, than at the joke. 

Bucky then said quietly, "May I kiss you?" 

Steve's heart raced. A treacherous part of him wondered what it would have been like if the old Bucky had asked him that question. Would he have sounded so hesitant? Or would he have been all brash confidence? He suspected that the old Bucky's confidence had been part show. After all, this new Bucky had managed to ask where the old Bucky had had years of opportunity and never said a word. Steve nodded, not trusting himself to speak, and leaned in as Bucky closed the distance. Their lips met, just briefly, a moment of warm contact, before Bucky pulled away again. 

Steve felt a moment of disappointment that it had been so brief, and he supposed that answered his internal questions about whether or not he wanted this. He let out his breath slowly. Bucky's face was close to his, his eyes looking straight into his, the blue threaded with colours, grey and green highlights and even tiny hints of gold, mingling into a sea deep enough to get lost in. Steve wasn't sure how he had lived this long without ever seeing the true beauty of those eyes. He could spend a year at a canvas with paints and never quite manage to capture every hue in the gentle blue. 

"Was that alright?" Bucky asked. 

Steve nodded. He forced his brain to start working again. "We... We should do more of that." 

Bucky put a hand on Steve's shoulder and guided him down to sit on the edge of the bed, crushing the scattered rose petals. He sat beside him and draped an arm over his shoulder, pulling him close. Some small part of Steve's mind wondered if Bucky had done this move with girls, back before the war, if he seemed so sure of himself because he had seduced so many of the women he'd gone dancing with in just this way. He pushed that thought aside and focused on the fact that Bucky was beside him now, and all his attention was on him. Steve was now the one being seduced and every bitter thought he'd ever felt on seeing Bucky go dancing with some dame suddenly made sense. And all of that didn't matter now, not with Bucky beside him. 

"Tell me if this is too much," Bucky said. "Or too fast." 

"I should be saying that to you." Steve reached out to brush the curtain of Bucky's hair aside, tucking it behind one ear. He left his hand raised, brushing the skin of Bucky's cheek. 

Bucky leaned in to kiss him again, when Jarvis' voice cut in. "I'm sorry to interrupt, Captain Rogers, but Secretary Pierce is trying to contact you and is insistent on speaking to you right away."


	43. Chapter 43

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone. *waves*
> 
> So, I'm still alive and so is this story. I started a new job in August and things with that got really busy, basically draining me of creative energy. I'm trying to get back to writing regularly now that I've found my feet a bit with the job, but you'll have to forgive any delays. 
> 
> I couldn't find any references to Riley's surname in the movies (unless Riley is his surname) so I've taken some liberties.

Bucky followed Steve from the bedroom to a small office Jarvis directed them to, but he lurked in the doorway, out of the view of the video chat camera while Steve replied. The face that appeared on the screen was familiar enough to send chills of dread through Bucky's entire being. All he'd been trying to do about becoming a person seemed to retreat, leaving him a helpless tool in front of this man. Fear of punishment rose up, threatening to overwhelm him with the enormity of how much he'd disobeyed. How much it would hurt if Hydra ever got hold of him again. 

He wasn't shaking, but only because every part of him was stiff with tension, every muscle locked, ready for pain. He couldn't move. He couldn't do anything. He could only stand there and wait for the suffering to begin. 

Only now, he saw Steve standing in front of an image of the commander, of Pierce, and some part of him was screaming that Steve was in danger, that he needed to get between them, even though Pierce was miles away. Even though he was just a face on a screen, impotent to hurt in this moment. What his mind knew, the rest of him didn't. The rest of him was too scared to even breathe. 

"Secretary Pierce," Steve said, managing to sound calm, "what can I do for you?" 

"Captain Rogers," the tone was hard, with the quiet calm that threatened hidden anger. "I was surprised to hear that you had broken the agreement around security for Barnes." 

That was the tone the commander used when a mission had gone badly, when he felt the asset had failed. Bucky wanted to cower. He wanted to retreat to some dark place from which he couldn't see Pierce's face, but to do so would mean leaving Steve alone in front of him. He couldn't do that. Protecting Steve mattered more than protecting himself. 

"Moving him away from the Tower was the only safe option. We haven't announced this because we wanted to keep people calm, especially in the wake of everything else that's happened recently. Loki breached the perimeter at the Tower and took out some of the security, enough that Bucky escaped the Tower." 

"He escaped?" 

They didn't know how much the Hydra strike team had managed to report, how much Pierce might know about their situation and all that had taken place during the invasion. Steve had to make his story something close to the truth, enough so that if the handl... if Rumlow had managed to get a report out, it wouldn't contradict. One of the agents in the basement room had been talking on a phone or radio to someone elsewhere, someone who probably reported to Pierce. If Steve got caught in a lie now, everything would fall apart. If Pierce even suspected that his secrets had been compromised, he would have a squad of men here to kill Steve within minutes. 

"Is this line secure?" Steve asked. That was an angle Bucky hadn't considered, but it was a good one. It was a valid excuse for why Steve wouldn't give Pierce information without suggesting that Steve didn't trust him. It was an angle they could use to their advantage, perhaps. Bucky hadn't been involved in strategy meetings before, but he knew enough about covert operations. People tended to reveal more when they thought they had the upper hand. If Steve could convince Pierce that he still trusted him, giving him some supposedly confidential information, they might put Hydra on the wrong track, or at least allay his concerns. It might keep Pierce from acting long enough that they could move against him. 

They would certainly need to do something about the fact that Rumlow and the others had disappeared from contact, something that wouldn't let Pierce know that the secret was out. 

"I think so," Pierce said. 

Steve frowned at him. "We should meet. Somewhere we won't be overheard. Somewhere away from Shield." 

Pierce definitely paid attention to that last part. Bucky could almost see the cogs moving behind his eyes. Steve's sudden move of the secure location to somewhere even more controlled by Stark's security instead of Shield's, lined up with the fact that Steve was specifically wanting to avoid Shield. Pierce wouldn't believe Steve was so stupid as to not suspect anything nefarious given Rumlow's actions, but he might not know how much Steve knew. If he thought Steve just suspected a few bad apples inside Shield, they could use this somehow. 

"How about I come to you?" Pierce asked. "I would like to meet Bucky." 

Steve proved his lack of covert ability because his eyes instantly shot to where Bucky lurked, out of site of the camera. Bucky nodded, and then jerked his head back to the screen to tell Steve where he should be paying attention. The good thing was that Pierce had no idea who Steve was confirming with. 

Bucky didn't want to see Pierce. Seeing Pierce was approximately the last thing on Earth he wanted to do, apart from seeing Steve get hurt. The very thought of it filled him with dread. But they needed to control what Pierce suspected. This was the sensible move from a tactical point of view. 

"We should be able to arrange that," Steve said. At least he didn't try to pretend that he hadn't just been looking for someone else's input on that front. 

Steve finished off the call as quickly as he could and waited until Jarvis confirmed that the call was ended and all outgoing signals stopped before he turned to Bucky. 

"Are you really going to be okay with seeing him?" 

"It's our best way of convincing him that you don't know about Hydra. If he sees me behaving like that asset, not revealing information, it will help sell him on the lie. If he thinks I'm still afraid of him, he will think he can still control me." 

Bucky didn't think he would have any difficulty convincing Pierce he was still afraid. Just the sight of him on a screen was enough to send chills through him. He wasn't entirely sure how he would react to being face to face with the man. He wanted to kill him, to make sure he would pose no threat to Steve, but he didn't think he would be able to do it. No matter what the strategy of such a move was, he didn't think he was physically capable of killing Pierce, any more than he'd been able to kill Rumlow. The way he felt now, he wasn't sure he was capable of looking Pierce in the eye. 

He started doubting his decision already. What if Pierce did something to hurt Steve in front of him? Would he be able to kill him, even then? 

He had gone so long without making real decisions, what if he'd lost the ability the make decisions correctly? What if by suggesting this plan, he had just doomed them both? Steve shouldn't be listening to him. 

Steve reached out and put a hand on Bucky's arm. 

"Are you sure? You look... Honestly, Buck, you look awful." 

He wanted to make a joke, to say something about his looks. He was sure that the old Bucky Barnes would have made some joke about Steve being off to a bad start at being a supportive boyfriend. But humour felt so far away from him right then that he couldn't manage it. 

"He was the commander. He... he was in charge of my missions, with more authority than the handlers." Bucky had told Steve and the others that Pierce was Hydra, but he hadn't gone into details about what that meant in relation to him. 

"He hurt you?" 

Bucky nodded, but then clarified, "He didn't do much to me personally. He hit me sometimes, if he thought I wasn't paying enough attention. Normally, he would give orders to other people who would do the hurting, but he... he liked to watch sometimes. He ordered some of the tests on my abilities when I was transferred to his command." 

He'd already told Steve that tests meant pain. Steve didn't need to know any more detail than that. 

"I'm going to kill him," Steve said. 

"No," Bucky said. Then he amended, "Not as the first plan. If you kill him, Hydra will know you know. There will be other heads you don't know about. We can't kill him yet." 

He wasn't sure if he would be capable of killing Pierce, but the others would. Pierce would be no match for Steve's strength if they got close, even if Bucky's body was too controlled by his past to let him kill him himself. But if they waited, they might be able to use their knowledge of Pierce's true allegiance to hurt Hydra. That would be worth doing. 

It seemed Steve understood that. 

"We're going to have to consider this carefully if we're going to be convincing," Steve said. "I'm going to have to have a plan." 

This meant more tedious planning meetings. Bucky was not thrilled about that, but it was better that the strategy was discussed. There was something that struck him as strange though and he frowned at Steve, unable to quite understand what felt off about the situation. Something rang false with the remnants of his memory. An echo that wasn't quite surfacing. 

"Why does you saying we have to plan something make me feel uncomfortable?" 

"I'll have you know there are at least three biographies and a documentary that praise me for my strategic genius!" Steve said. 

Bucky closed his eyes, trying to chase the thread of memory. 

"Bucky?"

"There was something... I think I was wet. Someone was swearing in French..." He could almost pull together a picture of the scene, wrapping his arms around himself for warmth after pulling himself from an icy river, the stink of human waste still on him despite the plunge. "I don't know what's worse, you pulling stupidly dangerous stunts without thinking them through. Or you carefully planning and deciding to pull the stupidly dangerous stunt." 

He opened his eyes and saw Steve frowning back at him. "You said that to me after we took out a Hydra base in Austria. Our exit strategy involved going out through the... through the sewers, which let out into a river." 

"In the middle of winter." 

"Late fall." 

Bucky glared at him. "Late enough to count as winter." 

"You're never going to forgive me for that plan are you?" Steve was smiling as he said it. 

"Now that I can remember it, hell no. You are not allowed to make plans, not ever." 

"That's what you said after that mission." 

"I guess Bucky Barnes and I are in agreement about that." 

The smile that had formed on Steve's face vanished the instant he talked about his past self as a different person. Steve really didn't like it when he did that. 

"Buck... you're the same person, of course you agree." 

But that wasn't true. The old Bucky Barnes would have kept his attraction to Steve hidden until the end of time. He would never have kissed him, and Bucky was glad he'd kissed Steve. The old Bucky Barnes had been full of confidence, had known how to interact with other people with ease. This Bucky only really knew how to interact with Steve, and even then he managed to upset him by accident. 

"We should find the others. We need to plan for Pierce coming here." 

Bucky walked away before Steve could get even more upset. 

\-----

There were a lot of opinions about the risks involved in bringing Pierce to the compound, but eventually everyone agreed that this was their best opportunity to show that Bucky was still a prisoner, still too cowed and damaged by Hydra to have revealed the truth of the situation. Their little conspiracy group was now spread out, but Stark had arranged for a conference room with video screens spread out in a circle, so it felt like they were all sitting together for the meeting. Stark had got a little distracted talking about his plans for a holographic version before they managed to drag him back to the topic at hand. 

The thing most people were worried about was not Bucky but Steve, and whether he would have the ability to lie well enough to sell the story. Bucky had his concerns on that front too. 

"I'm not that hopeless a liar," Steve said. Bucky raised an eyebrow at him in silent judgement. "You don't count. You can spot my lies because you know me too well, but Pierce barely knows me at all." 

There was truth to that. 

They had discussions about what they wanted to achieve from Pierce's visit and how they would go about getting it, with backup plans and contingencies. There were goals that they wanted at all costs and ones that they wanted if at all possible, and some that were nice but that they weren't expecting. The main priority was that they convince Pierce that Bucky hadn't revealed the truth about Hydra to Steve and that Steve still trusted Pierce at least a little. They also needed to convince Pierce that Bucky was still very much under guard, which would cause other problems since May wanted to launch the attack on the Hydra warehouse while Pierce was at the compound. 

It wasn't a bad idea. It would mean that they wouldn't have to wait to make their move and it would give both Steve and Bucky a firm alibi in Pierce, so he would hopefully think they had nothing to do with that attack. The fact that Steve wouldn't be able to run head-first into a fight without thinking was a definite bonus as far as Bucky was concerned, but if the team were off attacking the warehouse, there would be no backup here if things went wrong with Pierce. And the team at the warehouse would be down two of their strongest fighters. 

And it would make it harder to make it look like there was a security team watching Bucky because they had no intention of trusting Shield agents with that job, beyond those already in their conspiracy. 

"I think the One Armed Bandit might have had the right idea," Stark said. "He pointed out that the two paramedics who helped Cap aren't part of Shield and they're unlikely to have been recruited by Hydra. I may have dropped a few hints to Rhodey that I was impressed by their wing tech - without letting anything slip, before anyone yells at me, even though I'm sure he can be trusted - and he gave me access to the project files, including personnel files on the two wingmen. Samuel Wilson and Riley King. No known ties to anything that would indicate they might have Hydra sympathies. In fact, Mr Wilson there was once arrested for an altercation with a group of neo-Nazis who were holding some sort of event in front of a synagogue." 

"You want to bring them into the group?" Fury asked. 

"I want to bring Rhodey in. Rhodey I know. These guys look good on paper, but I spent a grand total of twenty minutes in the same place as them and they weren't exactly spilling their guts about political inclinations at the time. I'd be inclined to trust them, that's as far as I'll go." 

"So you think they're a two," Bucky said. 

"More or less." 

Bucky wasn't sure he would go even that far but he also knew that Hydra was too big for them to win with just the numbers they had at the moment. Sometimes risks were justifiable. He would rather than the two winged men who had saved Steve on their side than face Pierce alone. 

"They did save your life, Cap," Stark continued. "What do you think?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is another reason I've been busy. Check out my tumblr for some [writing-related news. ](https://jessicameats.tumblr.com/post/188300510799/a-monsters-kindness-1-week-away)

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to know more about my writing, I have [a blog](http://plot-twister.co.uk) and [a Tumblr](http://jessicameats.tumblr.com/) where you can follow me. I have also recently started [a YouTube channel](https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCTNkMHdRuYyUmucnVydGpvQ) where I talk about writing, especially SF&F. This is really new so I'd appreciate suggestions for how to improve it or ideas for other videos I can do.


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